The Lost Boy
by Crazy-Chemist1
Summary: Six years ago Hiccup slew the Red Death from the back of a Night Fury… And then vanished into the night, mortally wounded. For six years he has been lost and presumed dead. Now circumstances are forcing him to return to a place he no longer calls home.
1. Prologue

This is a story idea that's been gnawing at the back of my mind for a while. An AU where a few events went just a little different from cannon, resulting in some major changes.

Please note that while the first chapter or two might come across as pretty dark, I don't plan on this story being an angst-fest. There will be a bit of angst, sure, but I have a hard time picturing Vikings dressing all in black and cutting themselves. (Now cutting other people, sure….)

* * *

**The Lost Boy**

**Prologue**

* * *

Astrid made her way down the path carefully. It was evening, and the sun was already sinking below the horizon, throwing long shadows across the ground. Soon only the moon would provide illumination. But that was okay. She didn't plan to stay long.

Fishlegs hadn't been a very good friend after all. Come to it, he hadn't been a very good warrior either. But they'd gone through dragon training together, and that counted for something. He hadn't been a bad Viking, per se. But he had always been happier out in the fishing fleet, helping keep Berk fed. Which just made his passing ironic. Or perhaps appropriate.

Regardless, he had been a fellow trainee, and that was enough to earn him some respect. Not many people had been particularly friendly with the large man, so Astrid took it upon herself to occasionally come to visit his memorial stone. Burials were rare things in the rocky soil of Berk. Funeral pyres were easier. But when a Viking went on to Valhalla, a marker stone would usually be left behind, for remembrance.

And thus Astrid was heading for the Field of the Fallen, a rocky promontory that hung out over the ocean waves. And she was heading there this late in the evening because her day had been busy. And, well, if she was seen visiting Fishleg's stone by others, they might take it to mean there had been something between them. Which could not be further from the truth.

Still, best to avoid that sort of gossip if possible. She was certain that the Fishlegs would understand and not hold her behavior against her. He had always been a surprisingly gentle fellow, and could never really hold a proper grudge. Besides, few bothered to visit his stone, and beggars could hardly be choosers.

The sun had mostly set when she arrived at the edge of the field. She slowed her pace, pausing as she heard something ahead of her. A voice, perhaps? Slivers of conversation in the distance? Her eyes narrowed. _Who else could be here at this hour?_ Berk had seen plenty of deaths lately, but none within the past week or so. It was unlikely that grieving family members would be about so late, or after so long. The evening shadows lengthened, trees and rocks casting deep impenetrable pools of darkness. Her hand shifted to her axe as she slid closer, silent as a shadow herself.

Sliding around a large boulder, a low rumbling noise met her ears. And then a voice... Definitely a voice. Male by the sound of it. But one she couldn't recognize. And Astrid knew most every Viking on the island… She strained her ears to hear.

"Heh. So, they thought so little of me they just assumed I hadn't made it." The voice sounded amused. And that strange rumbling followed it a moment later.

"I suppose you're right. Really, I'm surprised they put a stone out at all. Or didn't cast it into the sea." Astrid continued to listen as she rounded the stone slowly, trying to get a look at the trespasser. Because whoever he was he did NOT belong here.

"I'm surprised they left my whole name. Thought that would be stricken off for sure." There was another pause, and then the man laughed again. It was a cold, humorless sound. "Right, right. Death DOES end dishonor, doesn't it? What was I thinking."

Another stretch of silence. "And they even recorded that little scuffle before we left. Imagine that."

By now Astrid had rounded the boulder in her path and could clearly see the field of stones. And she could see a strangely dressed man kneeling in front of one in particular, placed at the end of the field, close to the edge of the cliff. As she watched, he stood up and dusted off his furs.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to show them they were wrong to write us off, won't we old friend?" He turned his head, seeming to address an especially dark shadow beneath one of the few trees to grow on the rocky promontory. He seemed ready to say more, but paused abruptly before whipping his head around with surprising speed to stare straight at the blonde haired Viking.

The tree beside him rustled, but Astrid paid it no mind as she stepped into view, brandishing her axe. She'd already been spotted, so there was no point in hiding.

"HALT! Who are you? And what are you doing here?" She demanded, eyeing the stranger. The figure was poorly lit by the moonlight and covered in furs, so she couldn't make out many details. All she could tell was that he was about her height, had red hair and piercing green eyes. Everything else was cloaked in shadows.

The figure chuckled, and suddenly she could make out one more feature. A set of gleaming white teeth bared in a smirk.

"Me? I'm just passing through. As for who I am?" He seemed genuinely amused. "Apparently I'm a ghost." And then he just laughed and turned away from her.

"Hey, stop! Where do you think YOU'RE go… " She started to run towards the stranger as he turned away from her, but as soon as she began to give chase he began to sprint off as well. Both his speed and his direction were surprising to Astrid. Rather than try to pass her and head for safety he sprinted away from her with a slightly odd gait, heading straight towards the cliff! She could only watch in shock as the figure, still laughing merrily, reached the edge of the precipice… And leapt straight off it without an instant of hesitation.

She paused in shock, then hurried over to the precipice, a cold chill running down her spine as a stiff breeze blew across her. Reaching the edge, she glanced downward at the rocks below, expecting to see the moonlight tinted crimson on the rocky beach. But there was nothing. Nothing she could see anyway. Just laughter echoing faintly in her mind.

Feeling numb, Astrid shakily stood up. _Could it truly have been a spirit?_ Eyes narrowing, she backtracked to where she'd first spied the figure. He had been standing in front of a particular stone.

It didn't take her long to find it. She had to use her axe to reflect some moonlight onto the inscription, but if she squinted, she could just make the words carved roughly into the rounded stone.

_"In Memory of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, Slayer of the Red Death."_

* * *

The silence didn't bother Stoic the vast. At least not most of the time. He'd had six long years to get used to it after all. And he was a Viking! A CHIEF of Vikings! And Vikings didn't let little things like quiet houses or battle scars or missing friends slow them down!

Most of the time.

Most of the time Stoic didn't have time to mope or dwell on the past. He was too busy with his duties as chief to think back to the days when his home had been filled with the thunder and laughter of his beautiful wife. Or the cries of a newborn babe. Or the thuds and thumps of his clumsy son.

No, most nights he was too busy to think about such things. Or too tired from a long day. Or too drunk from hoisting one too many tankards at the main hall.

But sometimes… sometimes.. when the moon was high in the night sky.. . when the ever-present wind stilled and went silent… When he'd had enough mead to make his mind wander but failed to drink enough to shut it down fully…

On those nights he'd sit silently at the main table, alone with a few flickering torches, and stare at what had once been a helmet. What had once been half of a matching set.

What had once been his last gift to his son.

He would stare at the lump of metal. Stare at the large, scorched dent in its side. Stare at the blackened stump of one horn and then at the point of the horn that remained. The point which had been driven into his door on a dark night over six years past.

And he would remember. He would remember things he would rather forget. Things he worked so hard during the day and drank so hard at night TO forget. But here, in his home, alone, there was no one and nothing to distract him from his treacherous thoughts. From his memories.

Some of the men are wondering if there even IS a plan. And, if so, what that plan might be…

Gobber. Oh how Stoic missed his brother in all but blood. Even after all these years, he could still feel his old friend standing at his shoulder. Hear his voice whispering in his ear. How often had he turned his head to reply to the peg legged Viking's comments, only to find naught but air and shadows?

"A plan." He muttered to himself, picking up the helmet and staring at it with unseeing eyes. "Ha. As if anyone could plan for THAT. If only I'd known… How could ANYONE have known..."

_Please, dad, for once in your life LISTEN to me!_

"I was a fool." The blackened steel stared back at him, soaking up the dim torchlight and giving nothing in return.

_Don't you think you were a bit hard on the boy Stoic?_

_He's been hiding a DRAGON Gobber! A Night Fury!_

_Aye, he has. Been this is Hiccup we're talking about. You know how your son is._

_Loki take it! I'll handle it later! When this is done!_

But later had never come. Or rather, it had come in a form Stoic could not have imagined. And the chance to fix things between himself and his son had been denied him.

The battle. The battle was seared into his mind. Something no amount of hard work or alcohol could dull. The horrific losses. The incredible destruction. And the terrible, terrible mistakes he had made. Those memories needed no special circumstances to invite themselves to the forefront of his mind. Especially in these dark times, with Berk facing troubles so similar to those days of old.

No, it was what followed that preyed upon the chief's mind in the dark of night. The boy's disappearance. The fruitless searches. Then his brief return with that beast, that DEVIL, before his final departure. Leaving in the dark of night. Leaving despite his grievous wounds. Wounds which had never been fully tended to. Leaving with but a few belongings, despite injuries that would surely mean death for any Viking left on their own.

But it was the words that hurt the most. Words delivered to him by others. But in his mind he would forever hear them spoken in Hiccup's voice. Quite possibly the last words his son had ever spoken.

_Tell Stoic the Vast that he was right. I am not a Viking. And I am not his son. _

Strong words. Harsh words. Words that burned Stoic to the depths of his soul.

Words Hiccup had emphasized with a thrown helmet and a blast of fire from the beast.

That was what he had found when he rushed home following the commotion. Some stunned teenagers, his son long gone, and a charred, dented mass of metal that had once been a helmet nailed into his door by its one remaining horn.

His hands slid over the dented and disfigured steel of what little remained of the companion to the helm that rested upon his own head. They were a matched set, made from the breastplate of his beloved Valhallarama and shared with his only son. A totem to keep her close. To keep their family safe. To keep them together.

His eyes were fixated upon the helm, but he did not truly see it. All he could see was a blurry outline, and his memories.

He didn't even notice the moisture leaking from his eyes, his graying beard soaking up each drop without a trace.

* * *

Silence tried to envelope the Thorston residence, but was kept at bay by the continuous, rhythmic sound of stone against steel. The low grinding sound of metal being honed to a razor sharp edge by a careful hand.

The sound kept the silence at bay, but it could not defeat it. Not alone. Not when it's only accompaniment was the soft, regular breathing of the building's sole occupant.

The sound kept the silence at bay, but it was not enough to defeat it. For it was practically the ONLY sound echoing in the large home. Its only accompaniment was the quiet breathing of the buildings sole occupant

Ruffnut Thorston ran the whetstone alone the edge of the speartip in her hands, her eyes focused on the gleaming metal with an unnatural intensity. The tip of the weapon was already sharp enough to draw blood at a light touch. Even if the rest of the spear was in far worse condition. The long wooden shaft was nicked and scratched from years of use, and worn smooth from as many years of care and attention.

But it was the fresh damage that drew the eye. The long gouges halfway down its length. The darkened splotched where freshly exposed wood had soaked up blood. And, of course, the rough shattered stump where the last foot and a half of shaft should have been.

But Ruffnut paid no attention to those defects, focusing solely on sharpening the weapons edge until it could cut the wind itself.

The Thorston twins were no strangers to loss. Father had died in their youth, lost on a raid of a neighboring village. That had left their mother to care for too rambunctious, energetic, and rather violent twins. A task she somehow managed to accomplish while maintaining her sanity.

Their mother had been a seamstress, not a warrior. And so they had been spared the loss of family that so many suffered through following the Battle of the Nest as it came to be known. But it seemed that the gods were not content to allow them such good fortune, because no more than a year and a half later their mother fell ill during the winter. The sickness sapped her strength until on night she fallen into a sleep from which she had never awoken.

And so Ruff and Tuff were left alone in the world. But it didn't matter, because they were, well... rough and tough. And they still had each other. They were twins. And despite all their fighting, they were close. After their mother passed on, their fights only grew rougher and more frequent. Because, secretly, fighting was their way of telling each other 'I'm still here.'

And now there would be no more fights.

Ruffnut's eyes hardened as she looked over the weapon. It was something Tuffnut had never strayed far from. It was practically a part of him. Just as her spear was practically a part of her. And in a way, that meant he was still with her when she carried it. Just as he had been throughout her life. Just as he had been that terrible day out at sea…

They called it The Green Death. The older generation, the ones who had witnessed the Battle of the Nest, dubbed it that. They said it was nearly the same size as The Red Death that had inflicted such terrible losses upon the warriors of Berk, though it was much different in shape. Whereas the Red Death had been massive and ponderous in its stupendous bulk, this new monstrosity with long and sleek and very, VERY fast.

And whereas the Red Death had been content to remain in its nest and sate it's appetite with stolen sheep, this new beast seemed far more willing to do it's own hunting. And it clearly had a taste for fish. And for the fishermen who dared to compete with it.

After several fishing ships disappearing into the ocean to never return, Stoic had ordered more warriors loaded upon each boat as guards against whatever fate was befalling them. The ship that the twins were assigned to was one of the first to return with an explanation and a description of the cause. And their escape was due in no small part to the actions and bravery of those 'Crazy Thorston Twins.'

Though by the time they returned to the docks, there was only the one crazy Thorston twin left.

Ruffnut's hand tightened around the shaft of the weapon, muscles creaking at the strain as she stared at the spearhead, a look of grim determination on her face.

"I swear to you, brother, I will KILL that damned dragon. I'll kill it and any other beast that gets in my way."

She stared at the sharpened steel for another few moments, her eyes unfocused, her teeth clenched in rage. And silence once again descended upon the room. It didn't last for long.

Within moments, the sound of a whetstone sliding across steel was once again echoing through the empty house.

* * *

Snotlout sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he stared at the map on the table in front of him. After another few moments of examination, he threw himself back into his chair with a petulant sigh.

"This sucks." He groused, taking a moment to adjust his helmet from where it had gone askew atop his head.

Snotlout hated waiting. He always had and he suspected he always would. He was more of an action oriented Viking. Though when you came down to it, most Vikings preferred action over planning. Still, over the years Snotlout had learned the value of patience, and of thinking things through. Failing to do so had cost him dearly in his youth. Had cost him what he had once thought to be the most important thing in the world. But at least he had learned from his mistakes.

That was an important attribute to have if one wanted to be chief someday.

Being smart also helped. But thankfully book smarts were not a required part of Viking leadership. Snotlout may have grown up a bit, but he still hated books. And he hated having to waste time reading things. Why read about things when you could be DOING things instead?

Now maps, maps were another story. Maps were nothing like reading. Maps SHOWED you things. A good map could show you the terrain before you arrived there. A good map could tell you where the fishing was best, or the hunting was easiest. A good map could tell you where an enemy village was, and the best place to start a raid from. A good map could be marked up with all the places you had been, all the villages you had raided, all the merchants you had dealt with, or merchant lanes you had preyed upon. A good map could be a badge of honor and victory.

This… This was not a good map.

This map was mostly covered with scraps of parchment held in place with a variety of knives and daggers and small weapons. Most of them were marked as spots where ships were lost. Or rather where ships were suspected of having been lost. All too often there were no witnesses on other vessels, and no survivors to tell the tale.

This Green Death was proving to be a menace of epic proportions. Far worse than the regular dragon raids of old. Sure, those had resulted in many a burned building and plenty of lost sheep. But actual deaths were, if not exactly uncommon then somewhat infrequent. And since the Battle of the Nest dragon raids had dwindled down to a mere trickle. Mostly the occasional snatch and grab by a handful of dragons at most, and some pestering by things like Terrible Terrors.

Not so with this new monster. Now ships left the docks and simply didn't return.

Losses were mounting. Worse yet, whatever the beast was it was as slippery as an eel. Ships had returned from the Old Nest, and found no signs of dragons living there, let alone the Green Death. And it tended to fly low and fast, coming out of nowhere and disappearing against the waves and into the horizon just was quickly.

In short, they didn't know where it lived. They didn't know when and where it would attack. And they didn't even know if they COULD kill it. The Battle of the Nest had gone… poorly for the Vikings of Berk after all.

In fact, the stories had it that Hiccup, scrawny, goofy, crazy Hiccup, had slain the Red Death. From the back of a Night Fury of all things! Snotlout would have sworn that the entire older generation had been touched in the head by one of Loki's tricks had he not witnessed Hiccup's brief return himself. Even then he could barely give credence to the tales.

But it hardly mattered. With his injuries, Hiccup had surely passed on into the afterlife. And if there was one thing about the battle that all the older Vikings agreed upon it was that the Red Death had been an opponent without equal. And, when soused with enough ale, some of them would even shamefacedly admit that they didn't know if all of Berk could have prevailed over it, even had they been prepared for such a creature. And wasn't THAT a comforting thought.

His eyes drifted across the map once more, to several scraps of paper representing three ships that had been dispatched some weeks before. They had been sent out towards the East, where both fishing and raiding were sparse. And they had been sent out following a suggestion Snotlout himself had made to the council. A suggestion that had been backed by many of the other, older Vikings, including the chief himself.

Snotlout suspected that the Green Death was hanging around areas where food was plentiful. So areas with plenty of fish… and plenty of fishing boats. By sailing into the rising sun, he hoped the vessels would escape the beast's attention. The captain of each ship had been given a bit of treasure, and orders to seek out any weapons that might help them battle the Green Death. Or any other Vikings who might wish for a chance at glory and honor battling a legendary monster.

There were stories of traders from further south. Of people who built giant bows that could throw an arrow the size of a tree trunk across the length of Berk itself. Surely they were exaggerations, but a weapon or two like that would surely do some damage to the monster in their midst. At the very least it should work better than the catapults were said to have done against the Red Death.

Plus, if they returned with anything like that, it would be quite a boost to his reputation. And a step closer to being made chief when Stoic passed on.

Snotlout snorted to himself, leaning back in his chair.

"They had best come back with SOMETHING." He muttered to himself. "Or else I don't know if there will BE a village left for me to be chief OF." He groused.

* * *

The Elder leaned against her walking stick, staring out into the star filled sky.

She had had a name once, in her youth. But she had discarded it long ago, along with so many other things over the years. Her youth. Her innocence. Her beauty. Her vitality. And far too many of her teeth. (In truth, that last one annoyed her the most.) Somewhere along the line her name had ceased to be important, replaced by her honorific. Elder.

And she truly was the Elder. The oldest Viking in all of Berk. Repository of so much of the island's lore and history and wisdom. All of which she had been passing on to the girl she had chosen to succeed her of course. But that girl, a whisp of a thing with barely thirty five years behind her, as no Elder.

No, she didn't have the Sense. The tingle in your bones that told you something was coming on the winds. The sensation in the pit of your stomach that told of storms, or the itching of your palms that let you know that danger had passed and calm times were on the horizon.

Truthfully, the Elder suspected that the closer one was to passing over into the next world, the more in tune one became with the realms of the gods. And she knew she was very, very close to passing over. She had been for years now. At her age, every morning she awoke was a pleasant surprise.

But somehow there was still some life left in her old bones, and she was hardly going to complain. If nothing else, her extra senses seemed to grow stronger with each passing year that Death stayed it's bony hand..

Which was why she was standing out in the cold night, staring at the cloudless sky. Because the sky WAS cloudless. And unnaturally still. Which was odd, since her body was telling her that there should be a massive storm breaking over Berk right now. A storm that had been building up for weeks. A storm that her eyes told her didn't exist.

And so the elder stared at the night sky, and smiled.

"I hope the Gods don't call me just yet." She murmered to herself. "Because I think the next few weeks will be worth hanging around for."

With a soft chuckle, she turned and shuffled back into her home.

* * *

**Authors Notes:**

**I'm somewhat loathe to post this as it's own story, since I'm far from certain I'll manage to finish it. My muse has left me, and churning out this story is proving difficult. Especially since I'm trying to slowly unveil what happened in the past without giving it all away at once. On the other hand, I have most of the story plotted out in my mind, and I think it's interesting enough to be worth writing out. So I'll be giving it a shot. But this story is likely to be updated VERY slowly if at all.**


	2. The Cold Green Eyes of a Stranger

**THE LOST BOY**

**Chaper 2**

**The Cold Green Eyes of a Stranger**

* * *

Astrid spared little attention for her surroundings as she walked through the village. Her body as on autopilot while her mind was preoccupied with the… encounter of the previous night. What, exactly, was she supposed to do about it?

Astrid was a fairly pragmatic woman. She wasn't particularly religious or superstitious. Oh, she listened to the Elder and showed the gods an appropriate amount of respect like any other Viking. But she didn't waste much time thinking about such things. The Gods and Spirits dwelled upon their own planes and those places were far removed from Midgard. Let the Elder and her ilk dabble into those realms. HER eyes were focused solely on the here and now. And the here and now had no place for gods of ghosts or spirits. At least it hadn't thus far…

Which raised the question: what WAS it that she had seen last night? Could it have truly been a ghost? It hadn't ACTED particularly ghost-like. The darkness of early evening had made it impossible to see, but running her hands along the ground, she was certain she had felt the shallow indentations of footprints where the… thing… had been running. And surely spirits didn't leave footprints?

On the other hand, men didn't just jump off of cliffs. At least not without a moment's hesitation. And creatures of flesh and blood generally left a great deal of both behind when they plummeted a hundred feet onto jagged rocks. So where did that leave her?

Speaking to the Elder would be a good idea. But the old woman would probably ramble on and on about omens and fates and spirits. Astrid respected the Elder. Who didn't? But she HAD gotten more and more long winded as the years passed. Not to mention the way she'd sometimes pause mid word and stare at you blankly for several long seconds, or even minutes. Creepy.

Perhaps she should bring it to the attention of the Chief? If it WASN'T a ghost, it might be an intruder. A scout from another tribe, learning the lay of the land. Of course, that didn't explain the dive off of the cliff. And if she started telling the story she could hardly avoid including the part where he claimed to be a ghost. Or who's memorial stone he had been standing in front of.

Everyone knew how touchy Stoic could be on the subject of his son.

No, that was a path she did not feel comfortable traveling down. Not until she had a better idea of what she was dealing with. Perhaps she would discuss it with some of the other warriors. She'd have to be careful who she spoke to though. Some of the other's were terrible gossips, and not just the women. The last thing the village needed on top of the menace of the Green Death was stories of restless spirits and ghosts.

Mulling over her options, Astrid was quite distracted. But not so distracted that she didn't hear or recognize the sound of leathery wings cutting through the air above her.

_A raid? Now? In broad daylight?_ There hadn't been a proper dragon raid in years. Since the Battle of the Nest more or less. And even in the old days the dragons were not foolish enough to attack at mid-day! But sure enough there they were. A flight of perhaps a half dozen beasts, approaching the center of town as calmly as you please, circling and descending.

And come to think of it, wasn't that odd? Dragons made raids. They dashed in and out, grabbing what they could carry, burning and killing whatever got in their way. They didn't LOITER. Plus there was a severe lack of livestock, or really ANYTHING of value or interest to a dragon in the center of town. So why did they appear to be landing THERE?

Well, whatever was going on, Astrid was going to find out. She wasn't that far from their landing point. And she was no slouch in a footrace.

Griping her axe tightly, she took off at a dead run.

* * *

Over the years, Astrid had grown substantially, but her basic features hadn't changed much. She'd grown taller, certainly. And stronger as well. But she had never become quite as large and muscular as some of the other warrior women of the tribe. She remained unusually slender in form. Though she had... blossomed… in other areas as well with the passing of the years. But the fact was that Astrid did not appear to be as physically tough and capable as some of the older and more experienced Viking women.

The key word was 'appear.' Astrid may not have been quite as muscular as many of her brothers and sisters in arms, but she was FAR from weak. And what she lacked in strength she more than made up for with agility, skill, tactical acumen and, of course, good old fashioned stubborn Viking ferocity. And she was more than willing to demonstrate ALL of those attributes to anyone foolish enough to question her abilities.

Which explained why Astrid had long since earned a reputation as one of the best fighters in the tribe. And why, despite her somewhat small size, she was able to push through the crowd of curious, concerned, and angry Vikings that formed a wall of bodies around the center of town.

When Astrid pushed, people noticed. And when they noticed WHO was pushing, they got out of the way.

Astrid had arrived less than a minute after spotting the dragons, but already a crowd had built up. An armed crowd. It was hardly a surprise. Berk was no stranger to dragon raids, even if the previous years had caused them to go a bit soft. Landing in the middle of town was like landing in the middle of a bee hive. Every Viking in the village was either in the crowd, or moving to join it. And none of them were unarmed. The only thing that surprised Astrid was that there were no sounds of battle yet.

And when she broke through the front ranks to get a clear picture of the situation, she could see why.

There, in the center of the town green, were five dragons in a sort of diamond formation. To the left and right were a pair of Monstrous Nightmares. Big, mean looking ones at that. They were eyeing the crowd menacingly, heads on a swivel as they looked back and forth, guarding the flanks. Two of those beasts would be enough to give any Viking pause. In a crowd like this, their sticky, fiery breath would be devastating.

A bit behind and between the nightmares was a Deadly Nadder. Its mostly blue scales glinted in the sunlight as it stared forward, head moving from side to side to clear it's blind spot as it watched its portion of the crowd. Its tail swished as well, clearly ready to let fly with its deadly spikes.

Behind the Nadder, facing towards the rear of the formation, was a Gronkle. In all honesty, it looked to be half asleep. But its eyes were still partially open, and still moving back and forth across the Vikings in its view.

Those four dragons alone were more concentrated firepower than the village had seen in years. A battle would be… messy. But there was little doubt that the people of Berk could put the beasts in their place. So it wasn't the Nightmares, or the Nadder, or the Gronkle that caused them to stay their hands. It was the beast at the head of the formation.

A sleek menacing black form crouched low to the ground. Large green eyes filled with challenge stared out at the crowd. And where they met the eyes of the Vikings, the Vikings were the one's to flinch back. It was a beast that had been seen only once before. But one that none of the Vikings who had seen it would ever forget. Its name spread through the crowd in hushed whispers.

Night Fury.

But even that was not the strangest thing about the tableau she found herself gazing upon. That title was reserved for the… thing… that sat upon the Night Fury's back.

It was human shaped, more or less. But it was covered in polished scales of all colors. Red was predominant, matching the Nightmares flanking it. But there were black and blue scales mixed in as well, forming various patterns around the chest and shoulders. The creature's hands were also covered in scales, with wicked looking projections jutting a few inches past the wrists. Even the fingers almost seemed to end in talons.

And the head was just as bad. An expressionless mass of red and black scales with two deep, empty eye sockets. There was a rough scaly ridge above its eyes, a pair of short horns jutting into the air and, strangely enough, nothing but smooth scales where a nose and mouth should have been. It was inhuman looking and more than a little imposing.

Astrid arrived off to the side of the group just as the Night Fury was crouching low, allowing its rider to decamp. Scaly boot-like feet touched the ground as it slid off the beast's back. Its chest rose and fell, the scales flexing and shifting as it moved. It looked for all the world like some sort of half dragon, half human monstrosity.

And then it lifted its hands to its head, and pulled.

With surprising ease the disturbing, draconic visage lifted upwards, revealing itself to be nothing more than a helmet. A very ornate helmet, but a helmet none the less. The face beneath the helm was less imposing, but only in relation to the mask it had been wearing.

Strands of red hair hung down in front of his face, framing a pair of cold green eyes that slowly scanned across the crowd of Vikings before him. Eyes that seemed eerily similar to his mount's. His rounded jaw was set, his expression cold and unsmiling. But it those weren't the features that drew Astrid's eye. That honor belonged to the scar.

It started somewhere near his hairline slightly to the right of his left eye and made an almost vertical line straight down to his chin. A long thick mass of scar tissue, brown with age and depth. It traveled directly across his eye socket, and was actually at its thickest there, about the width of her little finger. Even from this distance she could tell that the blow that had caused the wound had been deep enough to carve a groove into the bone itself. It was pure luck that it had not gone deeper and taken his eye as well.

Astrid could not help but stare as her mind whirled. A red headed boy who rode a Night Fury? There was only one person this could be. And yet she could not quite believe it. Her mind insisted on replaying memories. Memories of a hopelessly scrawny, clumsy boy. Memories of an uncoordinated klutz, his mind always in the clouds instead of focused on the road before him. She tried to compare this imposing, scale covered figure against those memories, and simply could not see a match.

But then his head turned in her direction as he scanned the crowd. And she saw his face more clearly. Saw the expression on it. A look of cold, hard, focused determination she could remember seeing once before. Seeing from a distance when she was stealthily trailing a scrawny, weak, hopeless red headed boy. She had seen that same expression on his face then, on that fateful day. When the friendless, disowned son of the chief had suddenly turned away from staring at the ocean and instead began to march, alone, towards the dragon training arena.

That had been the last she had ever seen of him. The last she had ever expected TO see of him. She licked her lips in shock, and a single word slipped quietly from her mouth. A word echoed by many of the Vikings around her. Some in surprise, some in shock, some warily and some in anger.

"Hiccup."

* * *

Snotlout's eyes narrowed as he stared at the dragon rider, taking in his stance, his expression, his features. It didn't take him very long to come to the same conclusion as everyone else.

_Heh. Looks like the toothpick was a bit tougher than we gave him credit for, since he's still alive._

Snotlout, along with Tuffnut and Fishlegs, had been the last to see Hiccup alive before he flew off into the night all those years ago. Snot had seen the bloodstained bandages the other boy had been wearing. He had seen with his own two eyes both how numerous and how bloody they were. Snotlout hadn't been able to tell in the dark, but many of the stories even claimed that he had lost his leg in the battle. To have survived injuries like those was no mean feat.

Snotlout shook himself out of his recollection, and focused on the here and now.

This strange figure certainly LOOKED like Hiccup. But it didn't ACT like him. Hiccup cringed. He didn't loom. Hiccup smiled and made stupid jokes. He didn't stare coldly and silently, meeting the eyes of those before him without apparent care or concern. Hiccup was weak and hopeless and a sorry excuse for a Viking. THIS man didn't seem to be any of the above.

Quite the opposite in fact. He seemed disturbingly confident and in control. And that nasty scar across his face just made him look more like a proper Viking. No, this new Hiccup didn't seem to have anything in common with the old Hiccup. Except for one very important thing.

Hiccup, both old and new, was the son of Stoic the Vast. The son of the Chief of the tribe. To whom, traditionally, the role of leadership would fall when his father passed on.

The Chief's son had returned from the dead. And perhaps worse, he seemed to have returned with some level of confidence and competence.

And so Snotlout watched with narrowed eyes. Watched and forced himself to be patient and observe. He was a man of action, and delaying action had always been difficult for him. But he had learned the cost of action without thought. He would be patient. He would think before he acted. He would wait until the time was right.

And then he would do whatever needed to be done.

* * *

Ruffnut growled and cursed as she ran. She cursed the gods, for playing such cruel jokes on her. She cursed her ancestors, for picking such a terrible spot to build the family home. She cursed the village and it's houses for being in her way. She even cursed the wind for blowing against her, and her own legs for being so slow.

She had been in her house when the beasts had landed, and hadn't even noticed the commotion until someone running past her window had called out 'Dragons!' as they passed. It had taken only moments to grab her own spear, and strap Tuff's to her back. And then she was off running.

Whatever was happening, it had been going on for several minutes already. Which meant that Ruffnut was something she despised being: late to the party. She willed her legs to move faster as she scrambled up one of the island's many hills, towards the center of town. That seemed to be where the action was.

_Damnit! They had best leave some dragons for me and Tuff!_ Her eyes glowed at the thought of a fight, and she clenched her spear tighter. She was already imagining all the ways she'd kill whatever dragon was stupid enough to cross her path.

"It's payback time for you and me Tuff…" she said to herself, a frighteningly bloodthirsty grin on her face. She knew it was a waste of breath that would better be saved for running, but she couldn't help herself as she headed for battle.

Opening her mouth, she began to cackle madly as she sprinted across the rocky landscape of Berk.

* * *

Astrid, like the rest of the village, continued to stare in silence as the figure calmly moved his helmet under his arm and surveyed the crowd. Seemingly satisfied that with what he found, and obviously unconcerned about the dragons at his back, he opened his mouth to speak.

"I am here to see Stoic the Vast, if he is still Chief of this tribe. Or his successor if he is not." His voice rang out across the crowd, loud and clear and filled with confidence. The silence lingered for another few moments, as villagers glanced at one another and shifted their weapons, unsure what to make of this unusual situation.

"Aye, and what might ye be wanting to talk to him about?" A rather belligerent voice called out from the crowd somewhere across the field from Astrid.

Both Hiccup and the Night Fury craned their heads in that direction, staring down any who dared to meet their eyes before he replied. It didn't go unnoticed by Astrid that the other dragons DIDN'T turn to look, instead remaining focused on their own portions of the crowd.

"I am here." He stated loudly. "To make a deal. For my assistance in slaying the Green Death."

And didn't THAT get the crowd muttering and whispering!

But the whispering and muttering was soon stilled, silence expanding outwards from a point directly in front of Hiccup as the crowd parted. Astrid couldn't make out his figure with so many people still in the way, but she could see his helmet, sticking up above its neighbors. A helmet adorned with a pair of massive horns. A helmet that moved along steadily through the crowd without pausing or slowing as others got out of its way.

There was no doubt. The Chief had arrived.

* * *

When someone shouted 'Dragons!' Stoic the Vast didn't waste time thinking about how odd it was that dragons would raid in the middle of the day. He didn't ponder the fact that it had been years since there had been a PROPER dragon raid at all. He didn't question, or consider, or think at all really. He just acted, reaching for his war hammer, slamming the door to his house open, and heading in the same direction as the other Vikings.

The only words he took the time to speak as he stepped outside were a mumbled prayer to Odin that it was not The Green Death run amuck in the village. If that were the case… Well, Berk might still survive, but Stoic was certain he would not. It would be better to fall in battle than have to remain in command after two such debacles. His memories of the Battle of the Nest still haunted him. A second such slaughter on his watch was not something his conscious could bear.

But rather than a fierce, pitched battle between a swarm of dragons (or worse, one massive dragon) and his tribe, he found a mass of humanity circled around the center of the village, all shuffling and whispering and shifting to get a better view of… Well, of whatever it was that was going on. Stoic could no more see through the wall of bodies than he could the walls of his house.

And so, without breaking stride, he walked right up to the edge of the crowd and began pushing through. He didn't have to push for very long or very hard, because as soon as the villagers saw who was behind them they began to part before him, a bubble of silence expanding around him as they ceased their chatter.

"WHAT is the MEANING of th…. This…" He began to bellow as he stepped out past the last row of Vikings and into the clear space directly in front of the dragons. The tactical portion of his brain took note of the five beasts in the clearing. But he had eyes for only one figure standing there. A figure he recognized instantly, despite all the changes the years had wrought. A figure he never dreamed he'd see again.

His hammer fell from limp fingers.

"Hiccup." He whispered, taking an unsteady step forward, face slack with shock. But then his eyes lit up. His voice booming, he threw his arms open wide, stepping forward more confidently now.

"MY SON!" He roared, his heart soaring as he approached the boy… No, the MAN before him! His SON! ALIVE!

"Don't call me that. I am not your son."

The words, spoken with cold, terrible precision, froze Stoic in his tracks.

And it was then that Stoic truly looked at his son's face. Looked him in the eye. And saw no warmth at all in those green orbs. They were like two flakes of jade; cold, hard, and unyielding.

And from behind the boy… No, the MAN… This man with cold, hard eyes… Behind him he finally noticed another set of green eyes focused on him, these belonging to an angry Night Fury. Its gaze was not cold like Hiccup's, but hot with anger and rage.

"W… What?" Was the only response Stoic's shock addled mind would allow him to produce.

Without even looking back, Hiccup raised his arm slightly, his palm back towards the Night Fury. And just like that, the beast ceased its growling, though it still remained focused on the Chief. The other dragons seemed to be paying the scene little heed, their attention fixated on the crowd.

"I'm not here to reminisce." Hiccup stated loudly, his voice cool and unemotional. "I'm here to make a deal for my help in slaying the Green Death."

"A deal?" Stoic mumbled, his brain still trying to come to terms with this surreal turn of events.

"Forty sheep. Of good breeding stock. Twenty bars of iron. And a ship to take them all back home." He stated, making sure his voice carried across the crowd. "And, of course, the cooperation of the village, and any information on the beast and its attacks. In return, we will slay the Green Death."

There was not a hint of doubt or bravado in his words. Just a statement of pure, simple, inevitable fact.

If nothing else, his demands had the effect of shocking Stoic out of his stupor. The Chief seemed to shake himself at Hiccup's words, returning to his senses.

"FORTY sheep? Iron bars? A SHIP? Are you MAD?" He practically roared.

"That is the price for my services." Hiccup showed no reaction to the bearded Viking's outburst, his face remaining a cool, blank mask. The Night Fury was less restrained in its emotions however, eyes narrowing further and a low growl once again emanating from its scaly black chest.

"I.. I can hardly make such a deal without the rest of the tribe, and the council!" Stoic sputtered, reining in his whipsawing emotions with great difficulty.

"Then consult them." Hiccup replied dismissively, breaking eye contact with the Chief to turn back towards his dragon.

"Hiccup…." The words came out as little more than a whisper as he half raised his hand as if to… what? Call his son back? Touch him to prove he was truly there? Truly alive? Dispel this terrible phantasm with the face of his lost son, but the eyes of a stranger?

While Stoic tried to find words, Hiccup was finding his seat. He leapt up onto the Night Fury's back with surprising grace, though his movements were slightly stiff. Once there he locked his foot into some sort of stirrup on the beast's side and latched his armor to the saddle with deft motions obviously born of practice and repetition.

Only then did he look back at the chief, from the back of the Night Fury.

"I will return here tomorrow afternoon to hear your answer." He kept his eyes locked with Stoics as he lowered his helmet. And then Stoic the Vast found himself staring into the seemingly empty eye sockets of a faceless mask.

"Let's go Toothless."

With one last snarl at Stoic, the beast obeyed. Crouching down, it leapt almost straight up into the air. Scant seconds later the rest of the dragons took to the sky as well, though the Nadder, and especially the Nightmares, required a bit more space to get aloft. They sped over the silent crowd low and fast in their departure. In moments the entire group was once again in formation. And moments later were little more than tiny dots disappearing in the distance.

Leaving behind a circle of shockingly silent Vikings, their Chief standing, alone, in the empty space at the center of the crowd. His hand remained half outstretched, his eyes locked upon the sky. A soft sound escaped him, little more than an exhaled breath pushed through stiff lips.

"Son…."

* * *

Ruffnut panted for breath as she finally neared the mass of Vikings at the village square. She didn't have enough breath left to curse, let alone cackle. With so many Vikings just milling around, the battle was surely over… there wouldn't be any dragons LEFT for her to slake her bloodlust on.

Which was why she almost fell over in shock when a pack of dragons took off from the middle of the crowd and flew almost DIRECTLY over her, rapidly ascending and well out of her reach.

All she could do was crane her neck and stare as they passed overhead. She was so surprised and focused on the creatures that she kept walking without paying attention to where she was going. And between an unfortunately placed rock and the way she was practically leaning over backwards to keep the diminishing dragons in her sight, she lost her balance and narrowly avoided taking a tumble.

Almost falling backwards was enough to awaken the blonde haired Viking from her stupor, and once she had regained her footing, she returned her eyes to the heavens, growling in the back of her throat.

She could just barely make out the tiny moving specs of the airborne dragons… Then she blinked and they were gone.

"DAMNIT!" Raising her spear into the air, she shook it at the sky in rage. Then she huffed and began stalking angrily towards the crowd. The crowd of tough, burly, heavily armed Vikings. Who had SOMEHOW allowed a whole group of dragons to ESCAPE! She had no idea how this could have possibly happened.

_But…_ She thought grimly as she tightened her grip on her spear. _I'm going to find out!_

* * *

**Authors Notes:**

**And we finally get to see Hiccup! Don't worry, he's not quite as much of a jerk as he appears to be at first glance. And Ruffnut isn't quite as crazy as she appears at fir... Well, okay, she pretty much IS that crazy. But regardless! We sill, h****opefully, begin to slowly learn how the world reached its current state through bits and pieces of dialogue and a few short flashbacks in future chapters. Which will follow this one.**

**Eventually.**

**Probably.**

**Anyway, I'm going on a trip for a week or so, which is why I rushed this chapter out the door fairly quickly. So the next chapter is going to be at least a week later than it would otherwise be. Hopefully by then my muse will have finished ITS vacation as well. )**


	3. Village Politics

**The Lost Boy**

**Chapter Three**

**Village Politics**

* * *

"The boy is MAD!"

"Who else is going to hunt it? All who have tried have been lost..."

"Forty sheep? FORTY? Insanity! Why, we never needed..."

"...didn't I? I always said the boy was nothing but trouble!"

"...maybe some hope for him after all. But if he thinks..."

"Who ELSE has slain a beast like this? No one since Sigurd…"

"The beasts seem to actually LISTEN to him though..."

"So what? It just means he's in league with the Hel spawn!"

"I'll not be giving him any of MY sheep! Madness to even consider..."

"Might be a bit of Stoic in the boy after all."

"... not fit to set foot on the island, let alone..."

"I don't know. The boy seems to have grown some backbone."

"...scar like that doesn't come from herding sheep or..."

Stoic stood at the head of the main fire pit in the great hall and tried to live up to his name. The cacophony of voices washed over him, running the gamut from damning to hopeful. For his part Stoic stood at the end of the table and remained stern and silent, not saying a word. It was better to let the group vent before speaking.

Stoic was no fool. As chief of the village, he certainly had the power and authority to agree to Hiccup's demands. And the rest of the tribe would follow him. But there would be consequences. This was no minor issue, and no small price to be paid. The tribute would have to be gathered from across the tribe, and people would long resent having such a burden placed upon them without their agreement.

Being Chief was not just a matter of being the son of the previous Chief, though that played a large role. It was also a matter of strength and pride and respect. A good chief needed three things: strength of arm, strength of will, and strength of mind. Strength of arm meant prowess in battle, so that every man and woman in the tribe could be confident in your power and, if necessary, fearful of your wrath.

Strength of will meant having the courage to stand by your words and ideals and not back down for anything, be it man or beast or force of nature. It was good old fashioned Viking stubbornness and pride that kept the people of Berk alive under such harsh conditions. And people expected their chief to embody that stubborn spirit. Even if they disagreed with a Chief's decision, the tribe as a whole could respect him for standing by it.

And then there was strength of mind. This was, of course, the least important trait for a leader to possess, though Stoic himself was more than qualified by Viking standards. Certainly he had never been a deep thinker. But then again, few Vikings were. Regardless, he had an innate understanding of battle and tactics, and enough cunning and intelligence to understand his fellow Vikings and make decisions that, generally speaking, benefited the entire tribe.

In short Stoic was, by the standards of his people, an excellent Chief.

And those standards made it clear why Hiccup had always been looked upon so derisively as a child.

Stoic was smart enough to realize that while he COULD accept Hiccup's offer without consulting the rest of the tribe, such a decision would have unpleasant repercussions, no matter how things turned out. Appropriating the livestock from people who felt that they had had no say in the decision would earn him enmity that would not soon be forgotten.

There would also be the whispers of favoritism regarding the boy. Whether or not such accusations were true, they would hurt his standing with the tribe. He'd lose some of the respect of the villagers. And that could lead down a path he did not wish to travel.

Oh, it wouldn't start off as anything too troublesome. The men and women of the tribe might just be a bit more lax following his commands. A little slower and less respectful attending to the jobs he assigned them. Perhaps placing their own desires and needs a bit higher in relation to the tasks their Chief set before them.

And that could be bad for the whole village. Bad enough that such behavior might need to be corrected personally. Which was where the strength of arm came into play. But that was not Stoic's way. He could surely rule through strength of arm alone. Many leaders did. But Not Stoic. Nor his father before him. Or his father's father. He ruled though the respect and confidence of his people. And that respect was something he was loathe to lose.

Which was why he remained silent. Remained silent and quietly prayed to Odin in his head. Because judging by the tone of the conversation (or more accurately, near brawl) in the main hall, the Tribe was slanted away from accepting Hiccup's offer.

And because, regardless of the consensus, he would be accepting the offer. For the benefit of all of Berk. No other reason.

The fact that it was his son, his lost son, who was making the request had no bearing on his decision.

It was all for Berk.

So he kept telling himself.

* * *

Snotlout stood around the main firepit in the center of the great hall like the rest of the Vikings. But unlike most of the others, he stood there quietly, watching and listening. Thinking and planning.

The response to Hiccup's return was... mixed, to say the least. In truth the entire village had been somewhat schizophrenic on the subject of the chief's son ever since he vanished into the night and was presumed dead. On the one hand there had been 14 years of weakness, failure, and disaster. On the other hand there was one single moment of astounding heroism and legendary battle, ending with the destruction of the Red Death. So which one was the real Hiccup?

Was he truly a hero? Or a traitorous villain? Was it just another trick, another lie, like his skill in dragon training? Or had that skill been a demonstration of his hidden talents and genius? He saved the village, true. But then he abandoned it, flying off into the night. What did that make him?

Arriving with a flight of dragons at his back and dressed like one of the beasts himself certainly didn't earn him any points in the eyes of the villagers. But even Vikings could appreciate a dramatic entrance, and damn if his little show wasn't that. Good or bad, his return WAS impressive. There was no doubt that the village was taking Hiccup seriously after his performance.

And at the moment the people of Berk seemed to be leaning towards taking him to be a serious THREAT. An additional problem that the island did NOT need added to the Green Death. A majority of the tribe were in favor of sending the boy and his beasts packing as quickly as possible. With sharp words at first, quickly followed by even sharper swords should the dragons balk. Under the circumstances, this was considered a fairly polite refusal.

And so Snotlout rubbed his chin and listened. His star was rising amongst the older generation of Vikings. His words held at least a bit of weight these days, and it was best to conserve them, so he could throw all that weight at one time, at one point. Joining into the continuous, roiling argument that filled the Hall would be a waste of strength.

Snot liked to think of it as a battle. It was a waste of energy to chip and poke at an opponent with your sword. Better to wait for an opening and drive the blade deep. Snotlout enjoyed a good fight, and thinking of all the bickering and arguing of village politics in those terms always helped him marshal his patience.

And sure enough, his patience was rewarded. The roar of 'conversation' had been rising and falling for some time, but now a sudden lull had arrived. This was his opening. It was time to drive the blade deep.

_It's time to do what needs to be done._

Schooling his features, Snotlout slammed his fist down onto the hearthstone surrounding the fire pit. The sound was enough to draw most eyes to him, and he made sure to speak loudly and clearly, drowning out the other arguments in the room.

"I have never liked Hiccup..."

* * *

Stoic sighed to himself, the sound lost in the noise of the Hall. The debate had gone on long enough. It was little more than petty squabbles now. Soon he would step in to make his intentions known. And it increasingly looked at is his decision would go against popular opinion.

Still, he had allowed them a chance to air their grievances. They wouldn't resent his decision quite so much under the circumstances. But this was not the outcome he had hoped for. He had wanted the tribe to stand together behind Hiccup and welcome him back. As it was, he might have to worry about someone doing something stupid...

The roar of conversation dimmed for a few moments, and Stoic began to open his mouth to speak, when someone else beat him to the punch. The sound of a meaty fist slamming into unyielding stone echoed across the hall, followed by a clear, loud voice.

"I have never liked Hiccup. Everyone knows that. He was always weak. Twitchy. Incompetent. More of a danger to his allies than to his enemies. I never believed he would amount to anything, succeed at anything."

Stoic's heart dropped. Not so much at Snotlout's statements, as at the way the rest of the tribe murmured in agreement and nodded along with his words. The black haired Viking allowed the muttering to continue for a few moments before speaking, his voice rising in volume.

"BUT!" Snotlout lifted his hand to point across the hall, meeting the eyes of many of the older Vikings. The one's who had been to the Nest, Stoic noted. The one's who had been there on that fateful day.

"BUT! The lot of you SWEAR on everything you hold dear that it was Hiccup, HICCUP! Who slew the Red Death! Now, I can't say that I believe it myself. All I saw of him was a bloody boy on the back of a dragon, disappearing into the night. But YOU all insist he killed a dragon the size of a mountain. A dragon that shrugged off the fire of catapults, and sent half the warriors of Berk running.. And the other half to Valhalla."

All conversation in the hall stopped, the only sounds in the room being the crackling of the fire and the shuffling of feet on stone. Stoic's hands clenched into fists as he focused his attention on Snotlout, ignoring the rest of the tribe as they refused to meet each other's eyes. The Battle of the Nest was not a pleasant memory for anyone.

"No, I don't like Hiccup. Never did. Never will. And I don't think he can kill the Green Death. BUT! I know that we lose more men to the beast every week! I know that our herds of sheep have only grown over the past six years! And I know that I'd rather lose forty sheep than another four men! What good does ten thousand sheep do us, if there is no one left to tend them?"

The murmuring increased in volume, many people nodding their heads. The Battle of the Nest had taken its toll on Berk. A great many lives had been cut short on that cursed island. The population of Berk had been struck a powerful blow, and it would be more than one generation before the tribe made good on those losses. At the same time the diminished dragon raids had allowed the flocks of sheep to grow and flourish.

In truth, Berk had greater stocks of food than ever before. And fewer mouths than ever to feed. It was prosperity of a sort, but not something Stoic could take pride in. Not given the way the excess had come about.

Stoic continued to watch Snotlout, and he wasn't the only one to note how the young man stood tall and confident before the assembled tribesmen. He let his words sink in for a few moments before finishing up, a small sneer crossing his face.

"Besides, we only need pay him IF he succeeds. If he fails, we're no worse off. And if we're lucky, perhaps the damned Hel-spawn will choke to death on the other beasts, leaving us free of both!" Snotlout slammed his fist on the stone before him, a grin on his face.

And as Stoic watched, that grin was matched by more and more of the Vikings in the hall. Chuckles and hushed voices returned, as the men and women of Berk began to 'discuss' Hiccup's offer one again, this time in a slightly different light.

Not a positive light, per se. But one far more inclined to tolerate Hiccup's presence. At least long enough for him to show his skill, or lack thereof. It wasn't what Stoic had hoped for, but it was better than what he feared.

In a few minutes he'd have to reassert control over the crowd. He would accept Hiccup's offer, with only minor grumbling from his tribesmen. And then they would move on to deciding where the payment would come from, if... no, WHEN his son succeeded. That would be an even more contentious process, and would likely descend into a good old fashioned brawl at least once. Business as usual on Berk. But for the time being it was best to let them mull over and argue about Snotlout's words for a few minutes.

In the meantime he looked out across the hall, meeting the eyes of the ambitious younger Viking. And giving him a slight nod of thanks.

* * *

Snotlout schooled his features, keeping his face calm and emotionless as he nodded back at the chief fractionally. He resisted the urge to grimace, smirk, or sneer.

Supporting Stoic and… ugh.. Hiccup… was a tough decision. A good decision, but a difficult one to stomach. Snotlout was NOT happy to see the red headed dragon rider return. Not happy at all.

But, if there was even a miniscule chance that Hiccup could defeat the Green Death, it was worth promising a payment that would likely never be collected. Letting Hiccup try and fail would cost Berk nothing. And if he managed to injure the beast, or even just distract it for a time, it was to the benefit of the tribe. By Odin, if he actually slew the monster and survived, he would have earned the payment!

Of course, Snotlout didn't really believe that Hiccup could defeat the Green Death. Not for a second. Hiccup was useless. A toothpick. A pathetic excuse for a Viking. Though he had certainly learned to put on an impressive show, judging by his arrival. But there was a big difference between bluster and ability. Snotlout knew that well. He himself had had too much of the former as a youth, and not quite enough of the latter to back it up.

Still, there was a chance that Hiccup wouldn't be a COMPLETE failure. Sure, he had always been more trouble than he was worth as a boy. But perhaps a few years on his own had changed him enough to actually be useful. It was unlikely, but possible.

Besides, it wasn't as if he could allow the Chief's son to be sent away. Not now. Not like this.

Things had been fine when Hiccup was presumed dead. But a live Hiccup was an obstacle on his path to Chiefdom. A live Hiccup on the island was… troublesome. But he'd surely screw things up one way or another, and show just how unfit he was to be Chief. That or get himself killed, which would be the best outcome really. Either way, the village would not stand for him as Chief.

But a live Hiccup cast off the island… That would be the worst case. Even if Snotlout became Chief, Hiccup would always be a sword over his head. A constant threat to his legitimacy. Even if he never returned, the villagers would always wonder what became of him. Wonder if, perhaps, Stoic's son might not have grown into a suitable chief one day. Wonder if he might still be out there, ready to return and continue the family line.

No, he needed Hiccup to remain on Berk. At least until he was dead or discredited. It was a tough call as to which seemed more likely. Hiccup had always been a walking disaster area, so it shouldn't take long for him to embarrass himself. On the other hand, if he was truly seeking a battle with the Green Death, he might not survive long enough to make a fool of himself.

_Of course, this IS Hiccup. There's no reason he can't do both at once. _Snotlout snorted to himself, but struggled to keep a straight face in front of his peers.

Yes, this was a good day. He had swayed the minds of his fellow Vikings with his words, and demonstrated his wisdom and leadership abilities. The Chief now owed him a favor for turning the tide of popular opinion. And this sudden bump on his road to becoming Chief was more than likely going to take care of itself. Even if all Hiccup managed to do was give the Green Death indigestion, it was still a net gain for Berk. And a net gain for himself.

_Heh. If Hiccup of all people could actually kill that Hel-spawn, he might actually be Chief material!_ Snotlout chuckled to himself at the absurdity of the thought, his low laughter easily lost in the background noise of the great hall.

* * *

Terrible Terrors were some of the most sociable of dragons. They almost always traveled and hunted in groups, ranging from a handful of dragons to packs of hundreds. Of course, being sociable didn't mean they got along with each other. Quite the opposite. Fighting amongst the small dragons was noisy, vigorous, and almost constant.

Which explained why the lone Terrible Terror sitting atop the main hall went unnoticed as it stared through the smoke hole at the peak of the roof.

When the meeting had ended and the Vikings began to disperse, no one realized that there had been one additional attendee. Taking to wing, the dragon silently flew away through the darkening night skies.

* * *

**And so ends another chapter. It was a little short, I know. But I wanted post another chapter without delaying TOO much. Hopefully the next part will be a bit longer, time and motivation permitting. And assuming I get as far as I plan with the next part, we'll actually see a bit of Hiccup once again. (For a main character, he's gotten very little face time so far, hasn't he?)**

**In any case, real life is a bear and my muse is still more or less telecommuting in, so expect updates to be slow.**


	4. Borrowed Scales

**THE LOST BOY**

**Chapter Four**

**Borrowed Scales**

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* * *

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Astrid stood amongst the mass of Vikings at the edge of the village green and resisted the urge to fidget. It would have been undignified. No matter how boring it was standing around idly.

At least the crowd was smaller than it had been the previous day. Much of the village had begun congregating around the field as the afternoon approached, but many had important tasks to attend to. Work that couldn't be put of for a mere spectacle, no matter how interesting.

Astrid bit back a sigh of boredom and tilted her head back to stare at the sky. The day was overcast and cloudy, though the Elder said there would be no rain this day. Still, a gray curtain was cast across the sky, allowing only a feeble fraction of sunlight through. Here and there a break in the clouds allowed the full power of the sun's illumination to shine through. Bright beams of light shone down from the heavens, appearing and disappearing, moving across the landscape as the clouds shifted and danced in the wind.

Looking up as she was, Astrid was one of the first Vikings to note Hiccup's arrival… as he and his flight of dragons burst through the clouds in a steep dive, zooming towards the ground.

Her gasp of surprise drew the attention of those around her, and in moments all eyes were on the descending dragons. Their wings were folded to their sides, and they were dropping towards the earth like an arrow fired from a bow. One by one they spread their wings, slowing their descent. All except the Night Fury bearing Hiccup. THAT beast seemed to have a suicide pact with the earth.

The black scaled beast and its armored rider waited until the last second… In truth Astrid thought they had gone well past the last second… before spreading its wings. There was a shriek of displaced air as the creature decelerated, and then a soft 'whump' as it set down with surprising gentleness. Atop its back, Hiccup appeared completely unaffected by the maneuver… Though it was rather hard to judge his expression through the blank visage of his helmet.

The Night Fury was quickly followed by the rest of the flight, which set down around Hiccup and his mount in the same formation at the previous day, the Nightmares arriving first, followed by the Nadder. The smaller Gronkle with its relatively tiny wings was last to arrive, seeming a bit put out at being left behind.

As Astrid watched, Hiccup slid easily from his saddle, dropping to the ground gracefully. His hands rose to his head, removing his helmet and revealing his cold, scarred, unsmiling face once again. He glanced around the circle of silent Vikings surrounding the field before focusing on the chief who was, of course, at the head of the congregation.

"What is your decision?"

* * *

Hiccup resisted the urge to grin as he looked through the eyelets of his helmet at the slack jawed crowd surrounding himself and his friends. Judging by the expressions he saw, they had certainly succeeded in making another impressive entrance. But he quickly banished the smile from his face. This was not a time or place for smiles. This was serious business.

And so he focused on schooling his features into a cold mask even as he slid off his best friend's back. It was the work of a moment to remove his tight, stuffy helm. It had its uses, looking intimidating as hell being one of the lesser ones, but it was far from pleasant to wear. Still, he didn't allow his discomfort to show on his face as he surveyed the crowd once again.

The villagers looked tense. And well armed. Prepared to leap into battle if it came, but not quite ready to start a fight themselves. At least not yet. In short, pretty much what Hiccup had expected. He didn't bother to turn around and look behind him. He had absolute confidence in his friends, and was certain they had deployed as he had requested.

Finally he allowed his eyes to settle upon the tall, powerful, red headed man before him. Stoic the Vast. Chief of the Village. A legendary figure to the people of Berk. And a man Hiccup had not seen in person for over six long years.

A man he could have happily gone another sixty without seeing again.

If only that damned ship hadn't arrived, bringing with it news of the Green Death and the attacks on Berk… but no. This was for the best. He would have learned of the situation eventually. And sooner was better than later. Even if it put him in this unpleasant situation. He had a duty, an obligation. One far more important than his discomfort at returning to this… place.

Hiccup refused to think of it as returning home.

Old memories made it a struggle to maintain his emotionless façade, but he managed to keep his expression under control. As did Toothless. He had spoken to his old friend after their visit yesterday, and the Night Fury was as good as his word. The dragon was refraining from growling at Stoic, though Hiccup was certain he was glaring daggers at the man.

Hiccup stared at the Chief for a few moments. There were a few more gray hairs than he remembered. Perhaps a wrinkle or two as well, though who could tell under all that facial hair? But his stance, his strong, broad shoulders, the aura of confidence, of absolute certainty…those were all exactly as he remembered. The passage of time had changed Stoic not at all.

Hiccup was certain that fact applied to the chief's mind as well as his body.

Glancing past Stoic at the group of especially rough and unpleasant looking men behind him, he fought back the urge to sneer. How typical of the chief to be so ready to do violence. The aged veterans seemed to be spoiling for a fight, or a reason to start one. Hiccup had no intention of obliging them today.

When he spoke, it took no effort at all to make his tone cold and formal.

"What is your decision?"

* * *

Stoic stood tall and confident at the edge of the village green. Behind him stood some of the tribe's best warriors, fingering their weapons. They had gathered around him on their own, ready in case a fight broke out. Eager for one, in all honesty.

But, for once, a fight was the last thing Stoic wanted. Not when it would pit him against his own blood. Family he had thought lost forever. But he could hardly order them away. These were men who had fought beside him for years. Men with as much experience with dragon slaying as himself. He could hardly fault them for standing beside their Chief in the face of such beasts.

It was a struggle to maintain his stern, commanding pose before his son. All he really wanted to do was charge forward and pull the boy into a bear hug, status be damned. But he couldn't do any such thing. Not with the whole village watching. Watching and grumbling and eyeing the dragons belligerently. For the good of the village, he had to act impartial. For the good of the village AND for the good of his son.

But his position as Chief was not the only thing holding him back. No, those cold green eyes did their part, as did the words spoken the previous day. Words that had been replaying in Stoic's mind for years, now spoken aloud. Spoken with calm, cool precision by a voice so instantly recognizable, yet so strangely matured.

Surely it had been a mistake. Surely he had misspoken. Just as Stoic had misspoken those many years ago before departing to find the nest. He had not truly meant those words after all. Not in his heart, despite what had come out of his mouth. Surely it was the same for Hiccup. For his son.

But if that was the case, the expression on the boy's face gave no hint of it.

Stoic's gaze shifted then, from the man his son had grown into, to the beast that had returned him to Berk. The same creature that stole him from his home in the first place. The black scaled demon was silent this time, but its eyes were narrowed angrily at the Chief. The men behind him muttered lowly, still fingering their weapons, and Stoic himself clenched his fist, wishing for his war hammer.

Here was the source of his trouble. The monster that had corrupted his pure, if somewhat underdeveloped, son. The creature that had dragged him away from his home, from his family, from his FATHER. For more than six years his son had been lost, and all of that could be lain at the feet of that dragon.

Stoic narrowed his eyes in return, biting back a growl of his own as he met the demon's eyes.

Then his attention was focused on his son once again as the boy spoke.

"What is your decision?"

Stoic paid no mind to the distant tone of voice. Instead he allowed himself a small smile as he stepped forward.

"The village has come to a decision. And we have decided to accept your offer." Drawing closer to his son, he reached out his hand to make the deal official with a handshake.

For a moment, it almost seemed Hiccup would snub the gesture, his eyes drifting to the offered limb. But then the moment passed, and Hiccup reluctantly grabbed Stoic's hand with his own gauntleted appendage, giving the Chief's hand a brief shake.

Like the rest of his outfit, Hiccup's gloves were covered in smooth overlapping scales. His hand felt cool and smooth and strange in Stoic's grasp, but there was no doubt that there was strength in the grip. A fact that Stoic noted with pride.

Releasing Stoic's hand, Hiccup continued to speak loudly and clearly, making himself heard by the entire crowd.

"Very well then." He began formally. "I expect my fee to be paid so long as I slay the beast. If I should fall in battle along with the Green Death, my friends will collect my payment and return home with it." He began, and Stoic blinked in consternation, glancing at the Night Fury as well as the other dragons behind Hiccup.

That was a… peculiar request. Did he really expect the villages to hand sheep over to a pack of dragon? Clearly the boy's brain had been addled from spending too much time around the creatures! Not that it mattered. The boy wasn't going to fall in battle… COULDN'T fall in battle. Not after he'd just returned home.. It simply would not happen!

"My friends and I will make camp in a clearing to the south of the village. You will find it between Skorn's ravine and the river that flows from Thor's Peaks." Hiccup continued speaking, his voice calm and confidant as he addressed the crowd as well as Stoic himself. "I'll need to be informed of any attacks the Green Death makes, and where." He let his words sink in for a moment before continuing, turning his head to survey the crowd as he spoke.

"My friends will do no harm so long as no harm is done to them. Do NOT attack them. You will not enjoy the consequences." His voice was cold and hard, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he met each person's eyes. As if to emphasize his point, one of the Monstrous Nightmares snorted, seeming to smirk at the portion of the crowd he was covering.

"Aside from that, all we need from you is to stay out of our way. We will deal with the Green Death. And then we will LEAVE." Seeing that the people of Berk had understood his warnings and his intentions, he nodded his head and began to turn, clearly intent upon remounting the Night Fury and departing.

Stoic frowned slightly, the expression hidden by his beard. He could hardly let the boy leave so soon! They had so much to do, so much to say!

"There's no need to leave so quickly son!" Stoic began, forcing a smile on his face. If nothing else, his words garnered Hiccup's full attention, as well as that of his dragon. Both of them were focused on him, two sets of green eyes narrowed in anger.

"I told you not to call me that." If his voice had been cold earlier then now it should have been leaving a trail of frost. Stoic did his best to ignore the implications.

"Well, what am I supposed to call you then?" The chief asked, throwing his arms in the air in exasperation.

It was a simple question. Yet strangely enough it gave the dragon rider pause. It was clearly a question he had not expected, and one for which he had no ready answer. For the first time the young man lost control of his features, his cold mask slipping. A look of mild confusion crossed his face, if for but a moment.

And for that brief moment, Stoic could see the boy he remembered. Small and frail and oftentimes strangely puzzled by the orders of his elders. What as so difficult to understand about being told to bang your head against a rock anyways?

And then the moment passed. One of the beasts, Stoic could not tell which one it was, made a strange growling sound. And suddenly Hiccup's mask was back up. Though this time there was a slight smirk on his face as he nodded his head, glancing back at the dragons behind him. It was almost as if the creatures noises had some actual meaning to him, and wasn't THAT a ridiculous thought!

After a moment's consideration he returned his green eyed gaze to Stoic, his eyes still cold even as his lips curled into what might be mistaken for a smile.

"I have had no need for a name that could be spoken by Vikings. My friends…" He emphasized the word, letting it linger for a few moments. "Call me many things. The simplest would translate to 'Borrowed Scales.'"

Stoic could do little more than blink as he tried to wrap his mind around his son's words. Surely he wasn't claiming to be able to SPEAK to the beasts? They were little more than animals! Cunning, dangerous animals, yes, but still no more than clever beasts! Had so much time alone truly caused the boy to lose his mind? But Stoic had little time to consider the matter as Hiccup continued speaking.

"But… That sounds odd spoken in Norse." He continued to smirk, his lopsided smile causing the scar across his face to shift and move. "So Hiccup will suffice, for what little time I plan to be here."

Stoic couldn't help but frown at the boy's words. Not the part about his name. Nor the fact that he acted as though he could actually speak to the beasts. No, it was the last part that disturbed him.

_What does he mean, what little time he'll be here?_ He thought to himself. _He can't be planning to leave so soon, not after finally finding his way home!_

_Can he?_

* * *

Astrid was paying surprisingly little attention to the conversation between the Chief and his estranged son. Oh, she was listening to them of course, as was the rest of the crowd. But her focus was rooted firmly on the dragon before her, her hand resting loosely on the shaft of her axe.

Not that she was eager to draw her weapon and charge into battle. Though a part of her WOULD enjoy a good fight at the moment. Beating the crap out of something was always cathartic, and an excellent way to deal with stress. Something she, like the rest of the village, had been under a great deal of lately.

But regardless, her focus on the beasts wasn't based on a desire for battle so much as curiosity. It had been some time since she'd been this close to a live dragon. And never one that was quite so… stationary.

The Monstrous Nightmare closest to her was just… sitting there on its haunches. Its tail flicked occasionally, and its head was constantly moving back and forth, watching the crowd around it. But other than that, it was surprisingly still. It was almost unnatural. And Astrid couldn't help but study it.

She had, of course, seen plenty of dragons over the years. She could hardly forget the memories from her childhood. Dozens of dragons flitting through the skies, stealing sheep and, sometimes, lives. Dangerous, frightening winged forms cloaked in shadow, flicking between darkness and light as they passed around the great bonfires the Vikings lit to illuminate the skies.

But those dragons were always in motion. Always on the move. A blur of wings and claws and flames. And they always struck at night, struck from the darkness. Creatures of fire and shadows. Not something one could take the time to examine closely.

Dead dragons were the exception of course. With them you could take all the time you liked to study them. But it was never quite the same. A dragon's remains simply lacked the… Vitality… of a live beast. Hardly a surprise, since it was dead. But there was more to it than that.

When a Viking was laid out, you could still see who and what it had been. The strength of arm, the scars of battle, the lines of age and wisdom… All those things remained, even after life had fled. You could look upon the fallen and say "This was a Viking!"

But Astrid had never felt the same way about dragons. A fallen Viking was still a Viking. But a fallen dragon… A dead dragon was just a carcass. More than just blood poured out of the creatures when they were slain. Everything that made them powerful, everything that made them terrible, everything that made them dragons… seemed to leave them along with their final breath. Astrid had always had a difficult time associating the unmoving mass of wings and scales to the fiery, energetic beasts that haunted the skies of Berk.

In truth, the first time Astrid had even gotten a clear look at a dragon in daylight was the first day of dragon training. And even then the beasts hardly stood still long enough for her or the other trainees to get a good look at them. There was no time for observation. Far too often there was barely enough time for dodging! Goober had always had an… interesting teaching style.

And then came the Battle of the Nest. The training arena had been left empty of beasts to train AGAINST. And following the battle, dragon attacks had dropped down to a trickle. Opportunities to capture more of the creatures became scarce. Especially since most 'raids' these days rarely consisted of more than a single dragon, usually a Gronkle or Nadder, swooping down out of the night to steal away a single sheep. By the time the alarm was raised, the beast would be gone.

So this was, in fact, the first time Astrid had ever been this close to a dragon AND had the leisure time to really observe at it.

The Nightmare before her definitely cut an imposing figure. As was the Deadly Nadder, from what she could see of it. The Gronkle… Less so. But knowledge of the havoc it could wreak gave it a certain respectability, despite the fact that it appeared to be half asleep. The Nightmare on the opposite side of the formation was mostly blocked from her view by the other beasts. And, of course, the Night Fury could hardly be forgotten. It was by far the sleekest and most ominous looking of the dragons, crouched low to the ground and giving the impression of a spring under tension: content in its current state, but ready to leap forward the instant it was released.

Still, despite the mystique of the Night Fury, the Monstrous Nightmare was closer, and thus the recipient of most of Astrid's attention. It was a large beast, clearly a fully grown adult. Its form was mostly covered in bright red scales, though there were spots of mottled black as well. Its underside was a far less eye catching tan color, the scales almost seeming to glow as they reflected the diffuse sunlight.

Its long narrow head was attached to an even longer and more slender neck. Teeth jutted out of its jaws in an almost random fashion, and two long, twisting horns grew out of the back of it's skull. All along it's back were a series of spines, and its claws looked both massive and powerful. All typical traits of a Monstrous Nightmare.

This PARTICULAR Nightmare however had quite a few quirks. Most of them in the form of scars.

The beast's scaly sides were covered with thin, ragged lines where new scales had grown in over injuries. At night the wounds would likely be nearly invisible. But in daylight they stood out clearly. The Nightmare's hide was practically a map of scars, crisscrossing its body. And those were hardly the only old injuries visible. Several of the spines on its back were clearly missing, and one of its horns had several prominent gouges.

Astrid was not quite an expert on dragon injuries, but she was quite familiar with weapons and the damage they could do. Many of those scars looked as if they might have been caused by the hands of men. Many and might. But it was clear that just as many had not been caused by any sword or spear Astrid had ever seen.

In any case, it was clear that this beast had had a run in with someone or something even meaner and tougher than itself. And it had managed to survive the encounter. Not a reassuring thought should she have to fight it.

Of course, a portion of her mind had been categorizing each and every weak spot the dragon had as she looked it over. Astrid had a more than passing familiarity with dragon anatomy. It was a very practical knowledge for a Viking. But as she went over the best places to strike to disable a Nightmare, she noticed another oddity. The scars were not limited solely to its body. There were, in fact, several long thin lines along the creature's wings.

And that was more than slightly strange. Wings and tails were favored points to attack, since damage to either would quickly ground a dragon. And as Gobber had said years ago, a downed dragon was a dead dragon. Whether it was a quick death at the hands of a Viking, or a slow one at the hand of nature. Astrid had not thought that a dragon's wings COULD heal and be usable again.

But further contemplation of the situation or the Nightmare would have to wait. The conversation between Stoic and Hiccup had moved on to the topic of names. A subject that, surprisingly enough, the dragon in question seemed to have an opinion on. As ridiculous as that might be.

The Nightmare's head remained facing the crowd, but it's eyes darted towards the red headed young man, and it made a strange low growling noise in the back of its throat before returning its attention forward. Astrid met its eyes for a moment as it examined the crowd. The beast's expression almost appeared... amused.

But that was ridiculous as well. Clearly she was reading too much into its behavior. It was just an animal after all. No more able to understand her than a squirrel or a goat. A bit smarter perhaps, certainly cunning enough to make a dangerous opponent. But no more than that. _Right?_

"They call me 'Borrowed Scales.'"

_Is he saying he can actually TALK to a dragon?_ Astrid was taken back by the very idea. _Too much time alone has clearly left him touched in the head._

* * *

Astrid's thoughts were hardly unique. And across the circle of Vikings, another young man was echoing her opinion.

_He actually thinks he can talk to dragons? Well, this just gets better and better._ Snotlout snorted at the very idea. _His second time back to the village, and he's already showing everyone that he's insane._

Well, that worked out just fine for Snotlout. Raving lunatics rarely ended up Chief. Though there HAD been a few historical exceptions... But that was hardly the point. The point was that Hiccup was already discrediting himself in the eyes of his fellows. Not that the red head seemed to care. Sure, he'd made another flashy entrance. But that hardly made up for proving to be touched in the head!

Snot had placed himself closer to the front of the town square, and as such was in position to get a good look at both Hiccup and Stoic as they spoke. Hiccup was already turning away to leave, but it was clear that Stoic didn't want the boy to depart so quickly. He took a step forward, calling out.

"Wait… Hiccup…" The Chief paused, and Snotlout could see the uncertainty on his face. An unusual expression for the always confident Stoic. Hiccup stopped, turning his head back to look at his father, but not bothering to fully turn around.

"Now that you're here, you're welcome to join us in the Main Hall. We'll have a feast to celebrate your return."

Hiccup blinked at his words, staring at the Chief for a moment before speaking.

"Celebrate. My return." He raised an eyebrow, then turned his head from side to side, looking up and down the crowd of men and women before him. Men and women with weapons in their hands and, at best, neutral expressions on their faces. Many were flat out scowling, or eyeing him with suspicion. Snotlout himself was no exception.

"Celebrate MY return." He repeated to himself, as if tasting the words and finding them strange on his tongue. Snot could see how the scarred red head's eyes focused on the group of armed veterans being the Chief. Their faces were far from neutral as they focused their gazes upon Hiccup and the beasts he had brought with him.

After a moment a smirk spread across the dragon rider's face. His scar seemed to writhe across his face at the change of expression, the dead tissue pulling at the edge of his lips. The left side of his smirk was just a tad lopsided and slow to respond as a result.

"I'd like to accept, but…" He spoke slowly, spreading his arms out to draw attention to the dragons behind him. "I don't think my friends would fit in the hall."

_Does he actually think we'd let Hel-spawn into the main hall?_ Snotlout felt his jaw go slack at the very IDEA. The only way a dragon could get into the Hall was if it was stuffed! In Odin's name, the centerpiece of the hall was a statue of a dragon impaled on a sword! The very thought was a step away from blasphemy! And a damned short step at that! It was preposterous!

And it was clear to Snotlout that he wasn't the only one who felt that way.

"Dragons? In the Hall?" Stoic sputtered, his face turning red. "Are you MAD? Those beasts will NEVER be welcome there!" He all but roared. Snotlout could see the Chief's eyes narrow as he turned his head to glare into the eyes of the Night Fury, which was more than happy to meet him glare for glare.

But Snotlout was paying the dragons little heed, instead focusing on Hiccup. Snot had to admit that the Chief's abrupt little tirade would have set most men in the village back a step. He could even admit, grudgingly, that he'd be on the defensive himself if the Chief had gone off on him like that. But surprisingly enough, Hiccup seemed more or less unaffected.

Instead of cringing or stepping back, Hiccup merely lowered his arms slowly and allowed the smirk to slide from his face. Once again his expression was a chilly mask of indifference, not a hint of humor or amusement in his posture and bearing as he began to speak once more.

"Then I suppose I must decline. If my _friends_" he emphasized the word with a frosty hiss. "are unwelcome, then I am unwelcome."

Hiccup's words were enough to draw Stoic's attention back to his son. He pulled his gaze away from the black scaled dragon, his hatred of the beast still burning in his expression as he focused on the boy. Their eyes met, Stoic's red hot anger opposed by Hiccup's icy indifference. The tableau stood for several long seconds, neither man budging.

Stoic's stubbornness and iron will were well known across Berk. The man could be as immovable as a boulder when he believed her was right. Worse than a bolder, many would say. With a good hammer you could smash a boulder into gravel if you had to. Stoic on the other hand could and would mash right back. The Chief of Berk was not a man easily cowed.

Which is what made it so startling when he was the one to lower his gaze, tilting his head to stare briefly at the ground. He took a deep breath to calm himself before lifting his eyes, opening his mouth to speak.

"Hiccup…" He began, only to find himself addressing an empty space and his son's receding back.

As soon as the chief had looked away Hiccup had turned on heel. He didn't smirk. Didn't smile. Didn't even sneer. He didn't do anything to acknowledge his little victory at all. He simply walked away without a word and gracefully swung himself onto the back of the Night Fury before looking up.

Once again cold, green eyes drifted across the assembled Vikings as Hiccup surveyed the field along with his mount, both staring at the same point in the crowd as they swept their gazes from left to right and back again. Snotlout couldn't help but feel a small shiver run down his spine as those piercing green eyes passed over him. It was strange and unnatural watching as dragon and rider moved their heads in tandem, both meeting the eyes of each Viking they passed over, seemingly perfectly in synch. Strange and unnatural, but undeniably powerful.

Finally Hiccup and his beast finished their sweep and the young red head allowed his gaze to settle in front of him. Not on Stoic, but on the vanguard behind the Chief. Snotlout had recognized them as some of the best warriors of the previous generation. And they were clearly some of the Vikings most eager for a more… hands on form of diplomacy.

"Remember my words. Restraint. Information. Non-interference. These are what I need from you in order to slay the Green Death." He spoke loudly and clearly, addressing the entire gathering. His eyes lingered upon the men behind Stoic however, and the edges of his mouth curled up into a small sneer.

"I know all three of those are foreign ideas to some of you. But for your own sakes I suggest you focus on restraint around d my friends." Without another word he slid his helm back over his head, blocking his expression from view. The Night Fury was already crouching low to the ground, and a moment later dragon and rider were airborne, with the rest of the flight following as they had the day before.

Most Vikings lifted their eyes to the heavens to watch the beasts vanish through the clouds. But not Snotlout. Oh, sure, he glanced upwards as the dragons left. But the bulk of his attention was focused elsewhere. Focused on Stoic the Vast.

The village needed a strong leader. A man with strength, confidence, and power. So it was just as well that no one else was paying much attention to Stoic. So no one else saw the way he stared at the heavens, his normally imposing visage blank and slack jawed. No one else noticed the way the Chief's broad shoulders were unusually slumped. Or how his normally impeccable posture left him, leaving him looking smaller and frailer than Snotlout would have believed possible.

The bearded red head seemed to shake himself once the dragons vanished from view, quickly regaining control of himself. His back straightened, his shoulders firmed up, and his expression hardened into its usual grim features. But Snotlout had seen the truth. Had seen that moment of weakness.

Snotlout wanted to be Chief. That was his grand ambition. The goal he strove for each and every day. He planned and plotted. He worked hard. He fought when possible and talked when necessary. He tried to make sure that each day brought him a step closer to his objective.

The village needed a strong, confidant, powerful Chief. Especially in times like these.

And Snotlout knew he needed several more years before he could convince the rest of the tribe that HE had the strength, confidence, and power necessary to fulfill that position.

A weak, uncertain Stoic beset by emotional turmoil benefited no one. It was bad for Stoic. It was bad for Snotlout. And perhaps more importantly, it was bad for the village at a whole. In time, Snoutlout was confident that he could become Chief. But he understood that the important part of that statement was 'in time.'

_And now is NOT the right time._ He thought to himself as he watched Stoic interact with the rest of the tribe, speaking and nodding to various Vikings before turning away and heading back towards the main hall, the crowd once again parting before him.

Snot turned his head up to face the clouds above, glaring at the overcast sky.

_Damnit Toothpick. Not even back for two days and already you're causing a mess._

* * *

_Interesting. Very interesting._

The Elder stared up at the clouds long after the rest of the villagers began to disperse and return to the more mundane matters of daily life. She paid the others little heed as they wandered off, her attention focused on the sky, seeking omens and signs in the shifting of the clouds.

She had missed Hiccup's initial visit the previous day. That was hardly surprising. He had not stayed long after all, and her home was on the outskirts of the village for the sake of privacy. She had long ago passed the age where she could run across half the village on a whim, or for such a minor matter as a dragon raid. So this was the first opportunity she had to observe Stoic's son in person.

Interesting certainly fit.

The changes time had wrought in the boy were substantial and fascinating. The bit with the dragons was curious as well, but that was a peripheral matter. A sideshow. It was Hiccup himself that held her attention.

When she had declared him the victor in dragon training years ago, she had not done so solely on his sudden and surprising performance in the ring. There had been more to it than that. Looking down at him on that day, she had felt deep in her bones that the boy deserved first place. That, somehow, he would prove to be a dragon slayer of the highest caliber.

And despite the... unusual circumstances, events had borne out her decision. The fate of the Red Death could attest to that.

Like most of the village, the Elder had never had high hopes for Hiccup. Not until his sudden turn around in dragon training. It had seemed such a waste. Stoic the Vast was of a proud lineage. His father had been Chief before him, as had his father's father, and so on. His family had produced many fine leaders over the generations. Strong, proud, skilled warriors and talented commanders all. And then there was Hiccup.

In all honesty, the best the Elder had been able to hope for was that Stoic would live a long, healthy life, and that Hiccup would find a strong woman to settle down with and raise a family. Perhaps the next generation would produce a more… capable heir.

Though that hardly seemed likely. It wasn't as if Hiccup's skill with the opposite sex were any better than his skill with a sword or spear. The girls of Berk were hardly beating a path to his door. The odds of the Chief's son catching a proper wife were, well, low. VERY low.

Almost as low as his odds of actually downing a Night Fury with one of his insane contraptions.

In any case, the Hiccup that left Berk, the OLD Hiccup, had never been what she would have called proper leadership material. But this NEW Hiccup…

_There might be some potential there._ She mused, reviewing the boy's behavior in her mind's eyes. _He certainly didn't make any friends today. But there is more to being Chief than making friends._

True, his attitude and behavior had not been endearing. But his actions HAD been… Powerful. Forceful. Confident. There was strength there, and determination. He had COMMANDED the crowd to remember his words. And the Elder had no doubt that no one who had been there would forget them. Oh, they might not FOLLOW them, but they would certainly not FORGET.

Yes, there was definitely some potential there. There were obstacle of course. And not minor ones either. It was clear that her fellow Vikings were viewing the boy as a potential danger, a threat. Since his departure, the tale of Hiccup the Horrendous Haddock had been told and retold many times across the island, and with almost as many variations. Was Hiccup a hero, or a villain? Was he a brave warrior who slew the Red Death, or a craven coward who abandoned his home and people? Was he a genius who somehow downed and then trained a Night Fury? Or a weak minded fool who was somehow bewitched by the beast? Stoic's son and the events of the Battle of the Nest remained a topic of contention to this day.

Not that any such dissention was apparent on the village green this afternoon. Vikings were a pragmatic people. No matter how much they may have argued over the role Hiccup had played in the battle and what light he should be viewed in, a flight of dragons led by a strangely dressed Viking was a deadly danger, and would be treated as such. Vikings were Vikings and dragons were dragons. It didn't matter WHO seemed to be leading them. If Odin himself had shown up with a half dozens dragons, he would have gotten the same tense reception.

But even in their wariness, the tribe was doing something it had never done before. Treating Hiccup as an equal. Or perhaps even a superior. Standing your ground in the face of the Chief's anger was no small feat. And it was clear that the boy had his own principles and standards (however skewed and bizarre they might be) and that he had no intentions of violating them. That was good. That was very good.

A Chief was often called upon to make decisions his people would disagree with. There might be anger and grumbling and arguments. But at the end of the day, a Viking could respect a chief who stood up to everything that was thrown at him and stood by his decision. Even if that decision proved wrong. To a Viking, standing the wrong ground was a lesser crime than not standing your ground at all.

Of course, a chief still needed to be smart enough to know when he was wrong, and know when to listen to others. But the fact remained that the tribe would sooner forgive stupidity than weakness. And this new Hiccup was certainly not weak. Keeping his back to a flight of dragons. Standing up to a crowd of unhappy and heavily armed Vikings. Staring down his father, the Chief of the village, a man not known for backing down.

_Yes, there's definitely some strength there._ She thought to herself, fingers drumming on the wood of her walking stick. _But is that good for Berk, or bad?_

But she already knew the answer to that question. Just as she knew that Hiccup deserved first place in dragon training, she could sense that the boy wasn't a danger to the village. He was bringing a storm with him, no doubt. And storms inevitably do damage. But the village would endure, as it always did. The boy was not SAFE, per se, but he was no real threat to the island.

The rest of her tribe might not feel the same way however.

Still, the slaying of the Red Death was no small thing, and was a matter never far from the minds of the people of Berk. With time, wariness and enmity could change to respect. There had always been an intense curiosity and uncertainty surrounding the red headed boy. It was hard to say how people would react to his return in the long run.

Then there was the matter of the dragons, of course. Did he really believe he could speak to the beasts? It seemed unlikely, but… The Elder had lived a long and full life. And over the years she had seen many, many strange things. Some awful, some wonderful, and most just peculiar. Someone that could speak to dragons would not be the strangest thing she had seen.

Though it would certainly be towards the top of the list.

That was always assuming that the boy was not just touched in the head. Who knows what effect being separated from his people might have had on the lad, besides clearly toughening him up? It was quite possible he was slightly mad. And if that were the case…

_Well, Berk has had its share of Chief's who were naturally three sheets to the wind without a drop of mead in them._ She stroked her chin, still staring at the sky. _Being crazy doesn't rule out being a good leader._

Still, talking to dragons was a fairly major eccentricity for a chief to possess. He would likely have to give up that little peculiarity, or at least curb it severely if he were to become Chief. Still, there was potential there.

_Oh, Odin, please don't call me just yet._ She smiled up at the sky as the sun began to break through the clouds. _I was right. These times are going to be very interesting. And I very much want to see them through before I move on._

The elder let out a little cackle as she lowered her eyes from the heavens and began to hobble back to her home.

* * *

Ruffnut growled angrily as she hauled a fishing net across the dock, carelessly dropping it to the wood planking. Someone would be along to mend it eventually. Or so she assumed. Ruff was no expert on fishing equipment. Her skillset was firmly focused on hurting people and breaking things. Especially dragon shaped things.

Which explained why she was working on the docks at the moment.

_'There is important work that needs to be done.'_ She snorted to herself, mentally mimicking the Chief's words in a high pitched voice. '_The fishing boats need a few more hands to prepare their nets for the next fishing trip. I need you to help them.' Ha! What a load of crap! _

The blonde Viking rolled her eyes as she stomped down the docks to grab another net. Ruffnut was nobody's fool. Sure, they needed a few more people to help down at the docks. But she knew damned well why SHE had been given the job. It was to make sure she was kept busy. And kept far away from the center of the village.

The place where the dragons would arrive…

She growled to herself, hands clenching into fists at the thought. Dragons. In the village. Allowed to land without a fight. Practically INVITED in, Loki take it! And they had the nerve to think SHE was insane?

And supposedly Hiccup was back too. That was pretty unbelievable. She had always felt a bit of kinship with the red headed boy. He was crazy after all. Not the proper sort of crazy, like Tuffnut and herself. Instead he was always focused on his bizarre contraptions and weird ideas. It was a sort of pathetic, looser style of crazy, but it was crazy none the less. And crazy was something Ruffnut could approve of. Usually.

But not this time. Not when she heard that Hiccup had returned at the head of a flight of dragons. As opposed to returning with the HEADS of dragons on pikes. THAT she would have approved of wholeheartedly. No, being on friendly terms with dragons was NOT a good way to be on friendly terms with Ruffnut. Not these days.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Oh, the whole 'hanging out with dragons' thing was bad enough to be sure. But I was his intentions that had her blood boiling. It was what he said he was here to do that infuriated her.

Hiccup claimed he was going to kill the green death.

And that could not be allowed.

_That damned beast is MINE! Mine and Tuffnuts!_ She pulled the scarred remains of Tuff's spear off her back without conscious thought, her eyes unfocused and filled with madness and violence as she held the weapon in front of her in a white knuckled grip.

She stood there in silence for several moments. It wasn't as if anyone in the village would be stupid enough to try to snap her out of it. Everyone knew that Ruffnut was one VERY short step away from a berserker rage since her twin passed on to Valhalla. The Vikings working the nets gave her a wide berth and continued on with their work.

It was the sound that brought her back to the present. It was distant, and barely audible over the sound of the waves splashing against the boats and pilings of the dock. But the sound of a dragon's wings was one that drew one's attention. A survival trait bred into the people of Berk over generations.

Ruff's head shot up as she glared in the direction of the village green. As far away as she was, she could still clearly see the mass of dragons ascending into the clouds. With a vicious sneer, she lifted the spear into the air, staring past the tip.

_We'll get them Tuff. Don't you worry. We'll get that big bastard, and every other dragon that gets in the way._ She swore once again as she sighted over the steel tip of the weapon, moving it along to follow the beasts until they vanished into the skies.

The entire time she kept the black scaled beast in the lead on the tip of her spear.

That was, after all, where a dragon belonged.

* * *

**Finally! It took me FOREVER to write this chapter! As I said, my muse has abandoned me, and I've had a heck of a time getting myself to sit down and write. An evening where I added a paragraph or two was a good evening. To be honest, I think this needed a bit more polish, but I desperately wanted to finish and post it.**

**Alas, I'm not certain there will be more to post. I have the bare bones of the rest of the story planned out in my head. And I've written a few paragraphs of the next chapter. But without the return of my muse and/or a sudden increase in ambition and motivation, I'm not sure I'll get around to future chapters. Definitely not in a reasonable amount of time given my current rate.**

**I almost included the early bits of the next chapter in this one, so they would at least be published... But this is really an ideal spot for a chapter break. Unfortunately I didn't slip in any more flashbacks / history in this chapter, but there will definitely be a bit more back story in the next chapter, should it ever be finished.**

**In any case I hope the lack of polish isn't too bad, and that people enjoyed this chapter**_!_


	5. Meetings, Past and Present

**THE LOST BOY**

**Chapter Five**

**Meetings, Past and Present**

* * *

"You want me to what?"

Astrid's voice was low and hard, her eyes narrowed as she stood before her Chief. When young Belch Fjordson had told her that the Chief wanted to see her for a special task, she had expected something along the lines of planning a fight with the Green Death. Not… this.

Stoic sighed heavily, but never broke eye contact. Meeting her stare for stare, he blew a breath out through his beard.

"As I said. I want you to meet with Hiccup. Help him out with… whatever he needs. And, you know, keep an eye on him." He gestured vaguely with his hand.

"You want me to spy on him." Crossing her arms, she attempted to up her glare a notch. Alas, Stoic was Chief for a reason. She may as well have been glaring at a boulder for all the good it did.

"It's not spying!" He growled, lightly banging his fist on the table he sat behind. He glanced around the hall, lowering his voice. Not that it mattered. The dinning hall was more or less empty at this time of day. The excitement of Hiccup's… visit… had passed, and there was work to be done.

"It's not spying." He repeated a bit more calmly. "You'll just be a… link… between Hiccup and the village. You can pass along information. Both ways. It's important."

Astrid couldn't help but snort. _Important to WHO?_ She asked herself. But regardless, Stoic was her Chief. And a good one at that. She would follow his orders, no matter how much she disliked being sent to spy on or baby sit the Chief's insane son.

That didn't mean she'd make it easy on him though.

"Why me?" She growled out, continuing with her ineffectual glare.

"Who ELSE am I supposed to send?" The red head growled, rolling his eyes and slamming his fist down in earnest this time. His tankard of mead jumped from the blow, but the sturdy wooden table weathered the blow unharmed as it had many times before..

"The older generation has already made up their minds about the boy, one way or the other." He growled, his frustration clear. "They'll see what they want to see, and not what's there." He shook his head sadly.

"And the younger generation hardly remember him. All they know are myths and stories." He ran one meaty hand down his face and spoke more softly. "And worse, not a one of them is truly ready to fight, should something.. go wrong."

Astrid had to agree with Stoic on that at least. The truth was, her generation had been the last to have proper dragon training. The younger Vikings were well trained, all things considered. But none of them had true hands on experience fighting dragons. And they were all green as saplings. Not to mention rash, impulsive, and absolutely convinced of their own immortality.

Odin, has she even been that young and stupid?

"So that just leaves your generation." Stoic continued tiredly. "And which of you am I supposed to send? Snotlout and Hiccup… Well, they've never gotten along."

_THAT'S an understatement._ Astrid thought to herself. Snotlout had never hidden his opinion about Hiccup. Picking on the scrawny red head had been one of his hobbies. He hadn't physically bullied the weaker boy much. At least not by Viking standards. He WAS the Chief's son. But he had been just as happy throwing insults as throwing stones.

"And I can hardly send Ruffnut along." Stoic cringed at the thought. "She's a fine fighter and a good Vikings, but…."

"But she's totally insane, bloodthirsty, and half a step away from a Berserker rage where dragons are concerned since Tuffnut died." Astrid finished for him, nodding in agreement. Sending HER to talk to Hiccup… No good could possible come from that. Between the two, Snotlout would be the better choice. He'd throw insults. Ruffnut would throw AXES.

"Out of the three of you that are left, you're the only one that ever showed Hiccup much kindness." He finished a bit more softly. "There's hardly anyone else I could send."

Astrid managed not to cringe at the Chief's words. He thought she had shown Hiccup kindness? Mostly she had just pretended he didn't exist. At least until Dragon Training. Unbidden her mind was drawn back into her memories…

_She was angry. So very, VERY angry. Hiccup! HICCUP of all people! How in Odin's name had HICCUP beaten her at dragon training? It was impossible! It was unimaginable!_

_It had just happened._

_All of her hard work. All of her training. The bumps and bruises. The hours spent perfecting her axe throwing. The days and nights spent learning about the various dragons. Their weaknesses and strengths. Where to strike a blow to kill or cripple. All of her focus and determination. _

_And then, out of nowhere, HICCUP comes along to show her up?_

_The only thing the red headed boy had going for him was the fact that he was the Chief's son! And even that was more or a bane than a boon, since it loaded the scrawny Viking with expectations he could not possible meet. He was weak and slow and clumsy and always distracted and oblivious to his surroundings. He could barely run without tripping, he couldn't jump to save his life, and was more likely to damage his own weapons than his opponent. He was a joke! _

_And somehow the joke was on HER. _

_It just didn't make sense! Hiccup didn't train! He didn't practice! He was still pretty clumsy and inattentive. Yet somehow he had become a master at defeating dragons! And as far as she could tell, all he did was run out into the forest after training each day!_

_And that had to be the key. No one got that good that fast. ESPECIALLY not Hiccup. Wherever he was running off to held the secret of his sudden success. And Astrid was going to uncover that secret._

_Slipping silently from tree to tree, the blonde Viking focused on remaining unseen as she paralleled Hiccup's path through the forest. Stealth was not exactly Astrid's forte. She preferred direct confrontation. But she was also a fairly skilled hunter, and no slouch when it came to stalking prey._

_Especially when said prey was a certain clumsy, clueless, victory stealing red headed boy. It didn't hurt that he seemed rather preoccupied. And trying to lug around that big wicker basket he was hauling seemed to take up most of his attention. Following him unnoticed had hardly been a challenge._

_Until now._

_The trees had begun to thin out as the ground became harder and rockier. And looking ahead, Astrid could see a clearing along the path Hiccup was following. There would be no cover for her if she continued to follow him. But if she detoured around it, she would lose him! The hard packed rock and rocky outcroppings would hide his footprints if she allowed him to escape her line of sight, and that was unacceptable._

_As oblivious as he was, Astrid MIGHT be able to follow him across open ground without being seen. But all he would have to do was turn around at an inopportune time, and she'd be caught. Losing to him in Dragon Training was humiliating enough. Being caught while stalking him… Well, Astrid might have to throw herself from one of Berk's many cliffs to cleanse the shame._

_On the other hand, Hiccup was moving rather slowly with his burden. And there was still enough cover left for her to sneak up on him if she so desired. It would be child's play to get ahead of him and set up an ambush. Not that she was going to HURT him (badly) or anything. But she might be able to startle a few answers out of him. She wouldn't get to see where he was going… But successfully ambushing him NOW would be better than being discovered later._

_Time was running out as she weighed her options. Take a chance, stay quiet, and try to track Hiccup to his final destination? Or go with the sure thing, pounce on him while they were out here, alone, far from the village, and demand some answers. The edge of the clearing was fast approaching._

_Astrid tightened her grip on the shaft of her axe, and made her decision._

Blinking to clear away the old memories, Astrid's mind returned to the present. Staring back at the Chief, she forced her features into a blank expression, her voice toneless as she spoke.

"What makes you think I showed him kindness?"

Stoic just stared back at her, a small, sad smile hinted at through his thick beard.

* * *

Astrid grumbled to herself as she stalked through the forests of Berk towards her unknown, but likely dragon infested destination. Despite her irritation she covered the terrain with an instinctive silence and grace. She avoided twigs and fallen pinecones, dodged dry tree branches, and stuck to rocky areas to avoid leaving footprints, all without real conscious thought.

A good Viking should be able to hunt, stalk prey, and silently scout out unfamiliar terrain. It was true that sneaking had not been her forte in her youth, and it still wasn't. But Astrid was determined to be the best Viking possible, and that meant being the best at everything. Including stealth. The last six years had put more than a little polish on all of her skills.

Which was why she heard the muted sound of voices (or rather, a single voice and some growling) long before she was noticed in return.

Slowing her approach and ending her grumbling, Astrid slowly eased her way through the trees and up a small hill. As she neared the crest of the hill the sounds became clearer. And Astrid found herself blinking in surprise. It was undoubtedly Hiccup's voice, and that was hardly shocking. This WAS the area he said he would be camping in. It was what he was doing that startled her.

He was laughing.

And it wasn't evil laughter. Or bitter sounding. It wasn't even a light chuckle. This was full, deep laughter, filled with warmth and humor. Hardly a sound she would have expected to come from the man she had seen just a few hours earlier. It was difficult to imagine that cold, emotionless, imposing figure laughing like this. Astrid crouched low to the ground and inched her way up towards the top of the hill to listen, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Did you see the looks on their faces? That was priceless! We definitely made an impression!" Hiccup's voice was filled with mirth as he spoke, and Astrid had to wonder who, exactly, he was speaking to. She strained her ears to pick up the other side of the conversation…

But all she heard was a chattering, growling sound.

"Oh, please! Don't start up on that whole cape business again! The armor was intimidating enough. Adding a cape would have just made me look silly."

Once again that strange growling, hissing sound returned. And once again Hiccup responded to it. Astrid could practically hear him rolling his eyes as he spoke.

"I don't care what you say. Having a cape billowing dramatically behind me MIGHT have been nice, but the whole effect would be ruined if I tripped over it. Besides, it would have made me look… I don't know… like some sort of melodramatic villain or something."

Astrid was nearing the top of the hill now, moving slowly and carefully as she raised her head to look over the crest and into the clearing below. The hissing and growing noises continued, and by now Astrid was beginning to realize that there was more than one beast down there making those sounds.

"You know you're crazy, right? Not to mention obsessed with capes. At least Toothless agrees with me!" Hiccup sounded smug and self satisfied. At least until a new 'voice' entered the 'conversation' with a series of growls. Whatever was 'said' it was enough to cause Hiccup to laugh happily once more, just as she got her first look into the encampment.

Astrid sucked a breath in through her teeth. On the other side of the hill the land sloped gentle downwards into an open clearing. A few boulders and protrusions of rock jutted out of the ground, but otherwise it was just a grassy field, ringed by trees at the edges. And currently filled with dragons.

The Gronkle at least seemed to be asleep, curled up on the grass and resting on its side, its wings occasionally fluttering at it snored. The two Nightmares on the other hand were wide awake. The badly scarred one Astrid had seen earlier was sitting upright and focused on Hiccup, growling and hissing at him. The other red scaled beast was stretched out on the ground, watching the… She supposed conversation would be the proper word.

The Night Fury was there as well of course, in all of its terrible black scaled glory. Though it didn't look quite so terrible calmly stretched out on the ground, its wings furled around it. Its head was turned around to look back at the scarred Nightmare, and at the most out of place member of the group.

Hiccup. Hiccup wearing not the ominous scaly armor he had worn earlier, but instead a simple cloth tunic and fur vest, long trousers, and hefty furred boots. Hiccup, sitting on the ground and leaning back up against the side of the black scaled beast, his hands behind his head, looking completely at ease. While surrounded by dragons. While practically using one of the most dangerous dragon known to Vikings as a pillow!

It was insane! And what was worse was how relaxed he looked! He almost seemed… content! As if he were in the main hall drinking ale, instead of an isolated field surrounded by deadly beasts!

"Fine, fine. I guess I'm crazy too." Hiccup laughed again, shrugging his shoulders expressively. "But at least I'm in good company around here. Anyway, the important thing is we made a proper impression on them."

As Astrid watched, the second Nightmare hissed and growled at the red headed young man, and his expression suddenly turned serious.

"Yes, it WAS necessary. Trust me, I used to live here." Hiccup snorted disdainfully. "The whole lot of them are violent, aggressive, and about as bright at a sack of hammers. They'll walk all over you, if you let them. Believe me. This way is better. Make them worried, keep them off balance, make them wary… And they might actually try to THINK before they do something stupid."

The Night Fury snorted and rolled its eyes at Hiccup's words, and the insane boy smiled, patting the beast on the nose like… like it was a dog or a sheep!

"Yeah, I know. That's expecting a lot from this bunch. But it's the best we can hope for. All we need is for them to stay out of the way and NOT start a fight. That way we can focus on that monster, put it down, and leave this miserable chunk of rock. We kill it, we collect our pay, and we LEAVE. The sooner we finish this, the happier EVERYONE will be."

Astrid narrowed her eyes in irritation at Hiccup's words. It was clear that he didn't have a very high opinion of Berk; his words practically dripped with derision when describing villagers.

_I'd love to go down there and beat some respect into him. _She closed her eyes to center herself, suppressing her anger. _Bad idea. I should just show myself and walk down to show I mean no harm…_

Astrid was just starting to stand to match deed to thought when a loud, angry squawk sounded behind her. RIGHT behind her. She froze for a moment, before slowly turning around, one thought running through her mind.

_Ah, Hel! There was a Nadder with him too, wasn't there?_

* * *

Hiccup leaned back against Toothless and sighed happily. His best friend's scales were warm and familiar against his back. The sky was overcast, but the clouds were beginning to break up, allowing more and more sunlight to escape their blockade. The clearing was quiet except for the sounds of himself and his friends. It was actually a pretty nice day.

It was almost enough to let him forget that he was on Berk.

The topic of conversation ruined the fantasy that he was still back at home. But he was happy to take a few minutes to sit in silence and relax, surrounded by the others, enjoying the peace and quiet.

So of course it couldn't last long.

Hiccup was on his feet in an instant at Frost's angry squawk. The human yelp of surprise that followed did not go unnoticed by himself or by his friends. An angry frown crossed his face as his eyes focused on the hill where the noises had originated.

_I didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to cause trouble THIS soon_. Hiccup frowned in anger and annoyance before schooling his features into a cold mask once more. _I never should have returned to this place._

He didn't have long to wait before two figures appeared atop the hill. Frost was easily recognized of course, her spiky head and blue scales standing out against the backdrop of trees and grass. In front of her was a second figured. Female, blonde, and judging from her bearing, angry. Her head was turned to look behind her at the dragon nudging her forward, and at first Hiccup could not quite place her.

Then she turned to face him, looking down on him from the side of the hill. Looking down at him with bright blue eyes filled with anger and hatred. Just as she had looked down on him the last time he had been alone with her years ago…

_"R…Really Astrid, I'm not doing anything." Hiccup sputtered nervously, taking another step back from the furious looking girl in front of him. Her axe had never seemed quite so threatening during training. _

_"You're up to SOMETHING, I know it!" The blonde growled, poking Hiccup in the chest with the head of her axe, forcing him back another step._

_Hiccup had no idea where Astrid came from. One moment he'd been trudging through the forest towards the grotto, his mind awhirl with his plans to leave Berk forever… And the next moment Astrid was standing in front of him, axe in hand and anger in her eyes. _

_"No one just gets as good as you do… ESPECIALLY you. Start talking." It was clear that Astrid wasn't about to take no as an answer. _

_And did he even WANT to tell her no? Here he was, standing in front of the girl of his dreams, the girl he had had a crush on since he had been old enough to HAVE a crush! Maybe… maybe he could tell her the truth? Show her Toothless? Trust her with his greatest secret? Trust one of the only people his age not to actively mock him over the years?_

_Lost in his thoughts, he stopped backing away, his eyes drifting absently from Astrid's angry visage to the empty woods surrounding them. Noting his change in demeanor, the axe wielding young woman ceased her stalking, though she continued to rotate the weapon in her hand, letting the sunlight that trickled through the trees catch the blade just so…_

_He began to open his mouth, began to speak, began to tell her the truth. To trust the object of his one sided affection with his secret. A part of him wanted more than anything to speak up. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe things would turn out right for him for a change. Maybe he could get Astrid to understand. Maybe he wouldn't have to leave the village to avoid killing an innocent dragon. Maybe, maybe, maybe…_

_But after a moment, he closed his mouth and held his tongue. Because as much as he might hope, might want, might dream… the fact remained that it wasn't just HIS secret to share. It was between him and Toothless. If their secret got out, Hiccup might well be exiled. But Toothless…_

_Toothless would be killed. _

_And so it came down to that. Was he willing to bet the life of his first, best, and only true friend? Because after all they'd been through, that was what the Night Fury was to him. The useless reptile was no mere pet, that was certain. So, was he willing to endanger Toothless for a chance to connect with the girl of his dreams? A girl who embodied everything that a Viking was, that a Viking should be? A girl who, at the moment, was practically glowing with hatred and anger?_

_Hiccup's shoulders slumped and the wicker basket he had been carrying hung from limp arms as he sighed heavily. Closing his eyes for a moment, he bowed his head to stare unhappily at the ground. His decision was clear. He sighed as he spoke, mumbling his response._

_"No." _

_Astrid seemed honestly stunned by his reply. The way Hiccup was behaving, she had been sure he was about to fold like a wet cloth and tell her what she wanted to know. That was normal Hiccup behavior. At worst he'd reply with some snarky half-understood comment before giving up. _

_"What did you say?" She asked incredulously, taking a menacing step closer._

_Straightening his back, Hiccup lowered the wicker basket to the ground and looked Astrid in the eye._

_"No." _

_Astrid's eyebrow rose in surprise at the change in Hiccup's demeanor. His entire posture and personality seemed to have changed as he stood tall and unbowed before her, refusing her demand with calm determination._

_Under other circumstances, this might have earned him some grudging respect. But not this time. Not here and now. Not when his sudden possession of a spine stood between her and the information she desperately wanted, no NEEDED!_

_"No, Huh?" She narrowed her eyes at Hiccup, clenching her left hand until the knuckles cracked, while her right continued to twirl the axe with deadly precision. "Well, I'll just have to about changing your mind." She growled, beginning to advance once again._

Hiccup brought his thoughts back to the present. That had been a long time ago, and the last time he had spoken to Astrid. She hadn't really hurt him that day. Not badly at any rate. It was no worse than the roughing up the other teens would sometimes give him if they caught him alone. After giving him a few painful bruises she had given up on getting him to talk and had stalked off towards the village. She had failed to get any information from Hiccup, but she had unintentionally succeeded in two things.

She had prevented him from getting back to the grotto in time to sneak off the island. By the time he made it back to Toothless, it had grown too late to do more than take a quick, relaxing flight around the island. Though THAT had proven far from relaxing when they ran into that returning dragon raid…

And secondly, she had crushed any hopes Hiccup had had that she was different from the others. That she held her tongue when the rest of Berk mocked him because she had feeling for him, rather than because he wasn't worth the effort of mocking. She really was a true Viking. Just like everyone else on Berk. Everyone except him. Which just proved that he had been correct in keeping Toothless a secret from her.

Not that that secret had lasted much longer in any case.

He had stilled pined for her of course, in his foolish youth. Had dreamed of what might have been, if things had been different. But in truth his life had been busy after he cut ties with Berk. He had chosen a different path to follow, a different future to explore. And time had long since worn away the last vestiges of puppy love he had once felt.

So when the blond warrior approached under the eagle eyed guard of a Deadly Nadder, he had little difficulty maintaining his cool, aloof demeanor.

"So, Stoic has sent a spy."

* * *

Astrid was NOT happy.

This was embarrassing… no, humiliating! Being snuck up on by a dragon on her own home turf! Clearly she had been far too focused on the events in the clearing, and not focused enough on her own surroundings. Such an amateurish mistake!

And now she was being herded forward by an angry Nadder! She clenched her hands into fists, resisting the urge to draw her axe from its loop on her belt. She had been sent here to talk, not to fight. But it was not easy to ignore her instincts and training, not with a field full of dragons in front of her, and one squawking and prodding at her from behind.

Still, Astrid was a proud Viking, and she'd be damned to Hel if she was going to show even a hint of fear to these beasts. And so she fed her fear and uncertainty into the furnace of her soul, letting her anger burn her embarrassment and insecurities away. And so she turned her head forward to look at the Chief's son with an angry scowl on her face and fire in her eyes.

"So, Stoic has sent a spy." The words were spoken clearly and coolly, and looking down upon Hiccup Astrid had to resist the urge to swallow nervously. The happy, relaxed visage of mere moments ago was gone as if it had never been, replaced by the expressionless mask she recognized from his visits to the village.

But then his words reached her consciousness, and only fed her anger and irritation.

"I am NOT a spy." She growled, glaring at the young man. He was far less intimidating without his scaled armor, but he still had a strong presence about him. "Stoic sent me to keep an eye on you, and to get you anything you need."

"And exactly HOW is that different from spying?" He sounded almost amused, as he raised an eyebrow at her.

"If I were spying, I wouldn't TELL you that I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on you." Astrid replied imperiously, looking down at him as if he were a none too bright child. She did her best to keep her attention focused on Hiccup. It helped her ignore the unfriendly stares of the observers. The Night Fury's green eyes were particularly disconcerting.

Hiccup seemed nonplussed by her response. Some of the harshness of his expression faded as stared back at her silently, tilting his head slightly as he mulled over her words. Finally, after the silence had stretched for an uncomfortably long time, he glanced at the Night Fury and shrugged slightly.

"Eh, fair enough I guess." Astrid let out a small sigh of relief at his casual acceptance. She glanced over her shoulder at the Nadder that was still uncomfortably close behind her, watching her. The beast let out an annoyed squawk, looking from her to Hiccup.

"But if you're going to stay around here, you need to lose the axe."

Astrid's head snapped forward as she stared incredulously at Hiccup.

"What? You expect me to go around unarmed and surrounded by dragons?" She spat out.

Hiccup merely crossed his arms. The smirk on his face could not be called friendly.

"No. I expect you to give up and leave. Either way, the axe goes. You're free to go with it. My friend's don't trust you around me."

Astrid narrowed her eyes at the smirking figure, fingering her axe.

"Oh? They don't trust me, but YOU do then?"

"I trust that you're too blunt and direct to do something sneaky and subtle like stab me in the back." There might have been the slightest hint of honest humor in Hiccup's smirk. Though his scar gave almost any expression a sinister air.

"Hey, I can be subtle and sneaky when I have to. I was subtle enough to get here unnoticed, wasn't I?" The moment the words had passed her lips, she realized how unwise they were. Astrid did not like having ANY of her skills derided, and her response had been as instinctive as it was unhelpful. She clamped her mouth shut in irritation, closing her eyes for a moment to center herself.

When she opened her eyes again, she was certain that there was some real amusement in Hiccup's grin. Malicious amusement, but still sincere.

"You know, you're absolutely right. It was foolish of me to underestimate you." His grin vanished and his expression turned serious. "So I suppose I don't trust you either. Lose the axe."

Growling to herself in aggravation, Astrid yanked her axe off of her belt. Given the way the beast behind her growled and the other dragons stood up and tensed, making such sudden moves was probably unwise. Not that she let that stop her. There was no way she was going to be cowed by a few dragons! Whipping her axe up, she slammed it into a tree, burying the blade several inches into the tough wood. An impressive e feat of strength, if she said so herself.

"There. Happy now?" she crossed her arms and glowered at Hiccup, ignoring the stares the dragons were giving her. She was already feeling uncomfortable without the familiar weight of a weapon on her belt or in her hands.

"Ecstatic." Hiccup deadpanned before turning towards the Night Fury at his side. "How about you Toothless?"

The Night Fury rolled its eyes and growled before snorting and laying its head back down. Its eyes continued to follow Astrid however, pupils narrowed into ominous slits.

"Toothless says he'd be happier if you dropped the knives in your boots and shirt. But he says he'll settle for the axe, and the fact that if you try to use one of those knives you won't even leave behind a pile of ash." He shrugged expressively, still smiling a tight, controlled smile.

_As if there's any way I'd go around completely unarmed! Ha! _Astrid snorted to herself as she ignored the content of the missive, instead focusing on its origins.

"So you really CAN talk to dragons." Despite her efforts to control her emotions there was a hint of fear and awe in her voice. If he truly COULD talk to the beasts… what might that mean for Berk?

"Any idiot can talk to a dragon." The Night Fury almost seemed to… laugh… at the red head's words. "The real trick is understanding what they say in return."

Astrid didn't really have a response to that, so she just stood her ground and stared back at the Chief's son. The beast behind her had stopped nudging her when she had reached the bottom of the kill, and there was still a good forty or fifty feet between herself and the center of the clearing where Hiccup and the Night Fury stood. After another few moments of silence, Hiccup beckoned her forward.

"You might as well come closer. My friends won't harm you. Well, not as long as you don't go for those daggers of yours. Or make any sudden moves really. You seem to make poor Frost a bit jumpy." He tiled his head slightly, looking past her at the Deadly Nadder at her back, still smirking. "Anyway, there's no need to be afraid. If it makes you feel any better, my friends can hit you just as easily at five feet as fifty. And Toothless here is an especially good shot."

The smug, challenging tone of Hiccup's voice was enough to make Astrid grind her teeth. The way the dragons seemed to be snickering at his comments just made it worse. There was no way she was going to back down from such an obvious challenge to her courage.

Mind you, she wasn't crazy either. She walked forward proudly and confidently, but she stoppd a good fifteen feet away from Hiccup and, more importantly, his pet Night Fury. The beast was eyeing her suspiciously. Plus the Nadder was following right behind her, and hissed when it seemed she was going to approach any closer to the red headed dragon rider.

"Toothless and Frost?" She asked once she had drawn closer. The Night Fury was obviously Toothless, and wasn't THAT a strange name for a creature that seemed so intent on showing her all of its teeth every time it looked at her. The other beasts were a mystery however.

"Oh, where are my manners? Allow me to make introductions." Hiccup made a broad gesture towards the dragons.

"These are my friends." He started with the Night Fury.

"Toothless." The green eyed dragon nodded his head at her.

"Iron Fang." He gestured at the Nightmare Astrid had yet to get a very clear look at. The dragon in question turned its head slightly, curling back its lip slightly to make the origin of its name clear. Now that she had a clear view of the beast, she could see that one of its large side fangs was not bone but polished steel. Fang showed off his dental work proudly for a few moments, letting the sunlight reflect off his false tooth.

"Sea Stone." He nodded towards the Gronkle. At the sound of its name, the lumpy looking dragon cracked one of its eyes open and surveyed the clearing. It clearly decided nothing important was going on, because it let out a low snort and turned its head away, closing it's eye and starting to snore once more.

"Paco." It seemed like an odd name for the heavily scarred Nightmare Astrid had viewed earlier in the day. The red scaled beast perked up when its name was called and grinned toothily at Astrid. She somehow got the impression that it was trying to be friendly, but with all those teeth all it could pull off was slightly less menacing.

"And behind you is Frost Belly." Astrid turned her head to look at the Nadder behind her. Which stared back at her rather belligerently, head cocked to the side to focus one large eye on her.

A surprised yelp from Hiccup brought Astrid's head back around, just in time to see a Terrible Terror pull itself up Hiccup's back, its green scaled head and oversized eyes peaking over his shoulder.

Hiccup sighed in exasperation.

"And THIS is Whisper. Who insists on being introduced, even when he _should know better_." The red head stated a bit sharply. Whisper seemed unaffected by his tone however, and just rubbed his head against Hiccup's cheek before turning towards Astrid and letting out a surprisingly quiet hiss.

"Guys, this is Astrid." He made a vague gestures towards her, letting the statement hang there for a few moments before adding "She's a Viking." in a dismissive tone.

Astrid turned her head back and forth, giving Hiccup and the assorted dragons a wary examination. She hardly took note of the growing silence as she tried to come to grips with just how surreal her situation was. She was standing in a field, surrounded by dragons, across from a man thought dead for years and the most mysterious, deadly beast known to Vikings. Her hands ITCHED for the comfort of her axe.

The behavior of the dragons helped her maintain her calm though. They were acting so very… un-dragon-like that she could ALMOST stop seeing them as an immediate threat. In all her days, she had never imagined seeing the beasts acting so… domesticated! They were just... lying around! Relaxing! Not growling or hissing or lunging at her. No pouncing or breathing fire or lashing out with their teeth or claws.

Really they were just staring at her. And while their stares felt far from friendly, they weren't filled with the naked aggression she would have expected from such dangerous animals. It was just enough to make it clear that she was a stranger here. An outsider. And not a welcome one at that.

And perhaps the strangest thing of all was how well Hiccup's eyes fit in with the dragons around him. How well Hiccup fit in with them in general! He had sounded perfectly relaxed before she had arrived. And now that she was here, he was watching her with the same suspicious, unwelcoming gaze as the dragons. Watching her as if she were the outsider here. As if SHE were the one who was different.

They were both Vikings, Loki take it! Viking surrounded by dragons! They were the same! The dragons were the one's who were different! Who didn't belong here!

And yet… And yet his every action, his every gesture, his every word… The way the dragons acted, the way they responded to him, the way they moved closer to protect him when she drew near… his very posture and his bearing… They all seemed to scream 'I'm one of THEM / He's one of US!'

It was the craziest thing she had ever seen, and it sent a chill down her spine.

"So, I assume Stoic choose to send YOU hoping that I'd get sentimental and not kick you out or have you set on fire?" After letting her mull over her thoughts for a few minutes, Hiccup choose to break the silence, raising a cynical eyebrow at her.

"More or less." It wasn't as if Stoic's reasoning wasn't obvious.

_He's still not calling Stoic his father. I guess he took the disowning seriously._ The vehemence with which Hiccup had shot down his father's outreach had been surprising. The Hiccup she remembered had obviously been desperate for attention from his father. And after the battle with the Red Death, Stoic had made it clear that he had not truly meant to disown his son. That he had spoken in haste and anger and had not meant the words he had said.

Though once Hiccup had been lost he rarely spoke of the boy. It was not a subject one brought up around the chief. Stoic had lived up to his name, and continued to execute his duties as chief with skill and strength. But it was clear that Hiccup's death, and the events leading up to it, were a massive blow to the red headed man.

The circumstances surrounding the battle and Hiccup's departure had never been quite clear either. There were tons of rumors and stories about the fight with the Red Death and its aftermath. Most were fueled by the older generation's recalcitrance when talking about such a miserable, terrible, unsuccessful battle. Plus all the conflicting opinions, stories, and explanations for Hiccup's actions during and after the fight.

Still, it was obvious that Stoic cared deeply for his son, and was still mourning his loss, all these years later.

_Though perhaps no one has told HICCUP that._

"Huh. I would have expected him to send Fishlegs instead then."

_I guess no one has told Hiccup lots of things._ Astrid cringed slightly at Hiccup's statement. It was clear that he was not up on current events in Berk. How could he be? And she had never been very good at breaking bad news. Maybe she should break it gently…

"Fishlegs is dead." Then again, there was something to be said for Viking bluntness.

"Oh." Hiccup paused for a moment, then shrugged. "That's a shame. He was a nice guy." He didn't verbalize the 'unlike everyone else on Berk,' but his tone made clearly implied it.

"Was it the Green Death?" He asked nonchalantly. As if being informed of the death of a childhood friend was of no consequence. His attitude set Astrid's teeth on edge once again.

"Maybe. No one knows for sure. His ship just never came back."

"Ah. Oh well. What about Snotlout?" He asked casually.

"He's still alive. And doing fine too. He's bucking to be the next Chief. It looks like he'll make it too." Astrid gave him a slightly smug smile, waiting to see how he took that little tidbit. If she expected a reaction, she was sadly disappointed.

"Eh, good for him." He shrugged unconcernedly. "And the twins?"

"Its just Ruffnut now. That WAS the Green Death."

"Eh." Once again Hiccup just shrugged, turning slightly to scratch Toothless' head, and Astrid narrowed her eyes at him in aggravation.

Sure, Vikings were supposed to be stoic (no pun intended) but this was HICCUP! He had never really been a model Viking to begin with! And his ambivalence towards the deaths of his peers was really starting to rub her the wrong way.

"You don't seem too upset about the deaths of your friends." She said accusingly. Frost Belly hissed lowly at her from behind, but she ignored the shiver the sound sent down her back, focusing on Hiccup.

"Friends?" Hiccup turned his head back towards her long enough to give her a disbelieving look and a derisive snort before turning his attention to the Night Fury. Thin, nimble hands dances across the beast's scales, and it almost seemed to be... purring?

"People die. It happens." He stated blandly.

"The Hiccup I know wouldn't act so cold hearted." Astrid said coolly. THAT at least garnered her a more energetic response.

"Excuse me?" Hiccup turned back towards her, an incredulous look on his face. "The Hiccup YOU know? Perhaps you'd like to tell ME about this Hiccup. You see, I consider myself a bit of an expert on all things Hiccup related. And in the book of Hiccup's Life on Berk, I don't recall YOU being particularly involved. Not until those last few unpleasant chapters at any rate."

Astrid narrowed her eyes at the man before her, unwilling to back down.

"Just because I wasn't involved doesn't mean I wasn't paying attention." She growled back. Hiccup merely snorted in response.

"Paying attention?" He raised an eyebrow at her, crossing his arms. "I shot down a Night Fury, befriended it, and spent weeks fixing its tail and learning to help it fly again. Every minute that I wasn't sleeping, eating, or in dragon training was spent with my FRIEND or at the forge working on a prosthetic FOR my friend." He rolled his eyes. "Very observant of you lot to notice all that."

"I noticed enough to know that something strange and WRONG was going on with you." The dragons had all perked up at their sudden change in conversation. Six sets of reptilian eyes were focused on her, but all of HER attention was on Hiccup.

Anger and irritation flickered across his face, and it occurred to Astrid that his expressions were ridiculously easy to read when he was riled up and not consciously controlling his features.

"Yes, I guess you DID notice that, didn't you? Congratulations then. I guess you're the smartest Viking on Berk." The smirk on his face was openly mocking,

"I'd have thought you'd name YOURSELF the smartest Viking on Berk, since you're so full of yourself." She shot back.

And just like that the mask was back. His posture went from casual arrogance to stiff formality. His smirk vanished, his expressive features stilling. And his eyes were once again the cold, focused orbs she had glimpsed earlier in the day upon the village green. It took an act of will to keep herself from stepping back in surprise at the sudden transformation.

"I am no Viking." The words were crisp, clear, and cold as ice as his eyes bore into her. After a moment Toothless started nudging his side, causing him to take a deep breath and relax. But only slightly. His gaze remained cool and unfriendly as he watched her through narrow eyes.

"Be sure to tell Stoic and the rest of the clan heads that." His tone, while not quite as belligerent as the previous moment, was far from warm. "Tell them that I am here to do a job. And that's all that I'm here for."

And with that he turned towards the Night Fury, patting its neck and scratching its chin as the beast crouched down to ease his access to the saddle on his back.

"Come on Toothless. We've wasted enough daylight talking."

"Where are you going?" Astrid finally managed to ask, still a bit off balance from Hiccup's sudden change in behavior. He didn't answer immediately, mounting Toothless and sliding his feet into their stirrups before turning to face her.

"We need to scout for the Green Death and anywhere it may be nesting. The sooner we find that monster and kill it, the sooner we can leave this rock." He stared at her intently for another moment before speaking.

"If you truly want to be useful instead of just a spy, you can find me a map of where the Green Death has struck and when."

Astrid opened her mouth to reply, to tell him that she was NOT a spy, nor was she his errand boy. But Hiccup gave her no time to respond. (Which was just as well since, per Stoic's orders, she WAS more or less his errand boy.)

"Let's go guys. There's work to do." He patted Toothless' neck and the beast gave a growl of assent along with the other beasts in the field. A moment later all six dragons were airborne, the Terrible Terror still hanging off Hiccup's back as he vanished into the heavens.

* * *

Hiccup sighed in relief and closed his eyes, letting the wind caress his face. It wasn't as if he needed to see in order to work Toothless' tailfin. After all, he could sense his partner's intentions and desires from just the twitching of his muscles. Over the years of working together the two of them had reached a level of understanding that was just short of telepathy.

This was where he belonged. This was where he was happiest. Careening across the sky on Toothless' back, man and dragon working together in perfect harmony. His hair whipping behind him as the slipstream tugged at it. Up here, all of his problems seemed far away, left behind on the ground.

But… His problems would catch up with him eventually. And he was out here for a reason. A very good reason in fact. It would have to be a very good reason to draw him back _here_.

And so with a sigh he opened his eyes once again, and began surveying the landscape beneath him for signs of the Green Death. Not that he expected to find the beast so close to the village. But he had discussed it with his friends and decided that it would be best to spend some time familiarizing themselves with the island.

After all, Hiccup, Toothless, and Frost had not been here for years.

_Not nearly long enough._ Hiccup groused to himself.

Paco had only been to Berk once or twice in the past, and Stone, Fang, and Whisper had never seen the island before their arrival. Though Whisper at least was small enough and sneaky enough to explore the place on his own.

Not that that stopped him from tagging along with Hiccup and Toothless of course. The quiet little Terror was still hanging onto Hiccup's back, looking over his shoulder. He claimed he only rode along because he was too lazy to use his own wings, but everyone knew the green scaled dragon loved to hitch a ride along with Toothless for the acrobatics. Terrors had many talents, Whisper especially, but they simply weren't built for high speeds or sharp turns. And Whisper clearly loved both.

Looking to the left and right, Hiccup couldn't help but smile proudly at the way the rest of the flight was spread out in formation, eyes focused on the terrain below them. They were good, loyal friends and excellent fighters all. Working together with their usual skill and precision, Hiccup was confident that the six of them would be able to find and deal with the Green Death in no time at all.

There would be no mistakes, like last time. And no repeat of that first disastrous battle with the Red Death…

_"Come on buddy, hold it together…" Hiccup croaked to Toothless as they dove through the clouds, the massive bulk of the Red Death bearing down on them. _

_His voice was raspy from the seawater he had inhaled, and he had to fight the urge to cough. At least the adrenaline rush of battle was washing away the pain of all the cuts, bruises, and abrasions he'd suffered over the last few days._

_But not even adrenaline could dull the throbbing of his face. His left eye was painted crimson, and he was certain he could feel the skin of his cheek flapping in the wind as they dove. He found himself wondering if he was raining blood on the battered remnants of the Viking attack force below, and felt the urge to laugh at the macabre thought._

_"Focus! Just a little more buddy!" He shouted, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand. He couldn't allow himself to think about his injuries. To wonder how bad they were, or consider how they were received. He needed to focus! But it was hard, so very hard. The world was growing dark and fuzzy, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was going into shock._

_Behind him, Toothless' artificial tail fin smoldered. Behind him, he left a thin stream of crimson droplets as blood and consciousness slipped away from him. And behind him, the Red Death roared and began inhaling loudly enough to be heard even over the roar of the wind and the pounding in his ears. _

_"NOW Toothless!" Hiccup shouted, working the pedals for all he was worth, responding to the dragon's cues on instinct as they cleared the clouds and the ground rushed up to meet them. _

_It was going to be close, and the response from Toothless' tailfin was growing loose and sloppy, but he could do this. He had to. It he failed he would not be the only one to die. He couldn't fail Toothless._

_And then there was a monstrous, spiked tail filling his view…_

No, it wouldn't be like that at all this time. Their victory that day had been little more than luck. Luck, some desperate last minute planning, and their opponent's arrogant belief in its absolute invulnerability. And even then it had come at a steep price. One worth paying, but steep none the less.

No, this time they would be ready. This time they knew what they were facing. This time it would not be left to luck.

Hiccup shook his head, refusing to dwell on the past. The memories wouldn't leave him alone though. It was being back on Berk again. It brought back memories of a life he had gladly left behind. People and places he had not thought of in years.

People like Astrid. The girl hadn't changed at all. Well, that wasn't quite true. She had certainly grown into an impressive woman and had clearly... developed quite a bit. But the important things had not changed. She was still very beautiful, and still very dangerous.

_The difference is that the years have given me enough wisdom to pay attention to the latter, instead of being smitten by the former._ He thought with a touch of bitterness.

And Fishlegs and Tuffnut were dead. That was certainly different. And sad as well. Fishlegs had always been a decent sort. And Tuffnut had been… Well, Tuffnut had been pretty horrible to him. Though in his defence, Tuffnut had been pretty horrible to EVERYONE, and just about everyone had been horrible to Hiccup. So really, Tuff had never singled him out for abuse.

"It's a shame about Fishlegs though." He said aloud, patting Toothless' neck. "You would have liked him I think. He wasn't the sort to swing an axe without giving it some thought first." That was a rare attribute in a Viking, and one he had felt he had shared with the oversized, trivia-obsessed boy.

Still, Hiccup had seen his fair share of violence and death. And he had long since learned that it did no good to dwell on it. Besides, the sad fact of the matter was he couldn't get too upset over the deaths of people who had long since moved outside the boundaries of his life. Six years ago he had left them behind, and had never expected to see them again. Death simply made that expectation a cold and unfortunate certainty.

"I think it's time to head back to camp Toothless. We're running out of daylight.

The Night Fury nodded his head and snorted in reply, making a slow, graceful turn back towards the clearing, the other dragons quickly following. The sun was slowly sinking towards the horizon, casting a myriad of colors across the heavens and reflecting them off the fluffy white clouds above them. It was a beautiful sight, but Hiccup felt he was missing something.

"Hmmmm.. What do you think Whisper? Do you think we can beat the others back to the camp?" He asked with a grin.

The Terror's soft but eager hiss was all the response he and Toothless needed. Hiccup's partner knew exactly what he was thinking, and in an instant they were shooting ahead of the others like an arrow fired from a bow.

The rest of the flight watched in consternation at their leader took off. But only for a moment. Seconds later pandemonium erupted across the skies of Berk, as Frost, Fang, Stone, and Paco gleeful started yet another game of 'Catch the Night Fury.' Roars of challenge and amusement bounced and echoed off the clouds as they played a cross between 'Tag' and 'Follow the Leader.' Amidst all of the growling, hissing, and chirping, one sound stood out.

"WOOOOO HOOOOOO!"

Needless to say they were a bit late returning to the clearing.

* * *

Stoic the Vast stared into his mug of ale, a frown on his face and a distant look in his eyes.

Most evenings he'd be in the Great Hall right about now, drinking and arguing and merrily fighting with the men under his command. But some nights the Chief wanted nothing more than to remain at home with his private stash of drink, and spend the evening with old friends.

Besides, Stoic knew what the Hall would be like this time of evening. It would be filled with Vikings at every imaginable stage of inebriation and filled with noise and bluster. The clatter of mugs, the clank of weapons and armor, the chatter of conversation… And the whispers of rumors and stories. Most of them involving the Green Death or his son, he was certain.

Stoic had no desire to sit in the hall and listen to the rumors fly. Instead he sat alone in his empty house, and shared a drink with the ghosts of his past. There were many of them, and so it took a great deal of ale to ensure he had at least one mug with each one.

Though now at least there was one less spirit for him to toast.

"Hiccup…." He whispered before taking another swig of ale.

He had only seen the boy for a few minutes over the last two days, but oh how each moment warmed his heart with the knowledge that his son was ALIVE! And yet each word he spoke, each cold stare he delivered froze his soul.

"What should I have said, Valhallarama?" He wiped his hand across his mouth after a particularly long pull on his mug. "You always knew what to say to the boy, even when he was a babe. Fourteen years and I never figured it out…."

What could he say, when he knew next to nothing about the boy? How he survived on his own, what he had been doing for the past six years, where he had been… Not that he had known much about his son before his departure. Events had made THAT very clear.

"How could I have not seen what was happening? How could I have not known that those beasts were corrupting my son…" Maybe if he had not gone off to find the Nest. Maybe if he'd just spent more time with the boy. Maybe if he'd just seen the signs… they must have been there. Something like that could not have happened solely over the few short weeks he was away…

He shook himself from the grip of such thoughts. He needed to look on the bright side of things. After all, the day had not been a total loss. Yesterday he had learned that his son was alive. And today he had learned at least a little more about the boy, if only second hand.

When he had sent Astrid off to keep an eye on Hiccup, he had not made a secret of it. But he HAD hoped to keep it… quiet. In retrospect that was a lost cause. And by the time Astrid had returned half the village had been waiting eagerly to hear from her.

In the end he had given up any hope of privacy, and had Astrid give her report in the main hall. Though he had succeeded in limiting the head table to himself and a few other important clan heads and the like. And he had made it quite clear that they were the only ones allowed to speak and ask questions. He had been hoping to keep the chaos down to a dull road. And it had worked. More or less.

At least the girl had returned whole and unharmed and without a fight. And the information she passed on was… Well, it didn't paint his son in the best light, but it wasn't particularly damning either. Some of it might even help his cause. Astrid was a strong, talented, and well respected Viking and she had a reputation for not holding back her punches, be they physical or verbal. Whatever she said was likely to be taken seriously by the rest of Berk.

_"Yes, I'm sure of it. He really CAN speak to the beasts. Though the way he said it, anyone can talk TO them. But HE can understand what they say in return."_ _Astrid had been rather annoyed that her observations were being questioned…"For the love of Odin, how many times do I have to say it? YES he could talk with them, and YES they listened to him! And did what he asked!"_

So, he really COULD communicate with dragons. That was… Well, Stoic honestly didn't know WHAT to think about that. Surely no good could come from talking to such monsters? Still, that didn't mean he was talking to the Green Death, or had set the creature upon them. Astrid had been of like mind when that accusation was brought up.

_"No, I don't think he has anything to do with the Green Death. He didn't say much about it, but I got the feeling that he really hates the beast. He's very eager to find it and kill it. And leave. "_

That was one of the less promising parts of Astrid's report, at least as far as Stoic was concerned. The boy had just found his way back home! How could he be thinking of leaving already? But Astrid had been quite clear on that point. Hiccup did not want to be here. In fact according to her…

_"He said 'I am no Viking.'" Astrid had actually look uncomfortable as she recounted Hiccup's words. "And he said that he was here to do a job, and nothing else. He wanted me to tell you all that." _

Those words struck a harsh blow against Stoic's heart each time he heard them. They had eaten at him mercilessly over the last six years when he believed they might have been the last statement his son had made. Now his boy was back, alive and well. And somehow they hurt even more now that they were freshly spoken.

"Not a Viking? Of course the boy is a Viking!" He growled angrily, punctuating his statement with his fist against the table before gulping down another mouthful of ale.

Of course Hiccup was a Viking! Sure, he had started off as a bit of a… physical underachiever. But he was the son of two great warriors! He himself was one of the most powerful fighters in the tribe and Vallhalarama, may the gods watch over her soul, had always been a force to be reckoned with. The boy had some problems, certainly. But he had just needed some time to grow into his heritage! Just another year or two perhaps…

But then he had been lost. Stolen away in truth. Led astray by that, that… BEAST. Dragged away by that demon, dragged away from his home and his family, dragged off to his death…

But he HADN'T died. Stoic had seen his son's injuries. He had wept over them long enough as the healers worked to save him. They were grievous, but with time and care and Odin's grace they were survivable. That he managed to survive despite not receiving the first two merely proved what a true Viking he was! Strong! Tough! Resilient! Able to not merely survive adversity, but thrive on it!

His thoughts wandered to the end of Astrid's report, as the questions and comments had wound down. The Elder had been present as well of course. But she had only asked one question there at the end…

_"… So no, I don't think he's going attack the village." Astrid stated as she finished giving her opinion of Hiccup's intentions. _

_The young blonde had been rather stiff and formal during the entire conversation, but she had given a detailed and insightful review of everything she had seen and heard. It was exactly the sort of precise and skillful work the village had come to expect from her over the years. The girl was talented, of that there was no doubt._

_The dozen or so Vikings at the main table with Stoic were about ready to disperse when the elder cleared her throat loudly. Supporting herself with her staff, she stared intently at Astrid for several seconds before speaking._

_"So, are you saying that Hiccup is not dangerous?"_

_Astrid stood up straighter at the Elder's question, taking a moment to consider it. When she spoke, her voice was firm and filled with calm certainty._

_"No. He is definitely dangerous. Very dangerous."_

_"You mean the dragons are dangerous?" Stoic had asked, seeking clarification. Astrid had met his eyes, staring back at him intently. _

_"Them too."_

There was no doubt about it. Astrid, one of the best, most talented Vikings in the village, thought Stoic's son was dangerous. Not the beasts that were hanging about him, the boy himself. The very idea made Stoic feel…

Proud.

"Ya hear that Gobber?" He whispered hoarsely, raising his mug to salute the spirit of a friend long gone. "The boy has finally come into his own. Ye would be proud too, I'm sure."

Now all he needed to do was figure out how to separate his son from the monstrosities that had stolen him away for the first place. And get him to realize that he still had a place here. A place on Berk. A place alongside his fellow Vikings. A place where he belonged.

A place beside his father.

* * *

**Well, the movie finally came out on DVD, and it seems that that was enough to stir up my muse a little bit… So another part has finally been finished! And at last we start to get some hints as to what changed and where things went… I won't say WRONG, but they definitely went DIFFERENTLY. More or less starting with one little change, one slightly different decision by Astrid. **

**I've made a conscious decision not to show things from the dragon's point of view, or show their dialogue and speech. I think it might be more interesting to show Hiccup the way everyone else sees him; involved in a conversation they can only understand one side of. You'll just have to use your imagination to fill in the dragon's side of things. :)**

**Once again I'm shoving this out the door without giving it quite the polish I'd like to. But I just don't have the energy or ambition to go over it again. Additionally, I really think I need to choose a better way to differentiate between memories and thoughts. I fear using Italics for both I going to become confusing. Oh well. Hopefully there aren't too many errors or typos in this chapter. And hopefully you've read it through to get to these notes, and found it entertaining!**


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